6 comments/ 394597 views/ 55 favorites Awakening Obsession By: Sisyvin1 I was living at home again, 18, after just six months in college. I hadn't liked it, hadn't done well, and had gladly accepted my mother's invitation to come back home after the first semester. It was just her and me -- she had divorced my stepdad a year before, during my senior year at high school -- and everything was going very well. We always got along amazingly well, since I was her youngest and favorite, and she had pretty much raised me by herself after Dad died when I was a kid. She had remarried, but he was a jerk and never much of a father anyway, and she still spent more time with me than him. I moved back into my old room, got a job and just worked. I dated occasionally, and so did she. Every other weekend or so she would get dressed up and go out with a friend to a bar or somewhere. She would have too much to drink occasionally, and need to get dropped off, or call me for a ride. I usually didn't mind, since I was staying rent-free, and life was pretty good. One Friday night -- well, early Saturday morning -- the phone rang. 3:00 a.m. I had worked a long shift and was dead asleep. Normally, waking up puts me in a foul mood and this was no exception. I sighed and answered the phone and, sure enough, it was my mother, voice slurring, asking if I could come pick her up, the whole speech punctuated by drunken giggles and apologies. I said sure, no problem, and asked where she was. She tried to tell me how to get where she was but was having trouble, and I could hear her ask someone to give me directions. To my surprise, a man's voice was on the other end, giving out street names. Normally, Mom might end up at a girlfriend's house or something, but this was the first time I needed to go to a man's house to get her. Something about it made my mood even worse, as some feeling -- protection, possessiveness, something -- added to my normal surliness. I wrote down the directions and curtly thanked the man and hung up. I grabbed the keys to her car -- they were still there, since she got picked up by her friend Donna -- which I was allowed to drive on occasions such as this. It was a Corvette, a gorgeous machine, and I loved driving it every chance I could. As I drove, I started thinking about my mother and this guy, whoever he was. He probably picked her up at the bar and took her back to his place after closing time, thinking he was going to get lucky. She probably had a couple of drinks, maybe kissed him or fooled around a little -- why that surge of feeling again? -- and then decided to head out. The guy was probably pissed, but I wasn't worried -- some 50-year-old bar swinger didn't scare me, and if he so much as looked at my mother wrong I'd hand him his ass. I found the address and swung into the driveway -- it was a nice place -- and saw my mother standing on the sidewalk waiting for me. The guy was standing behind her, arms crossed, and definitely looked pissed. I could see why. Mom was 41, but after the divorce really put some work into her shape. She always had long legs and slim feet, even when she had let herself go, and she had gotten implants after my dad had died. Now divorced and trimmed down, I could safely say she was hot -- and would tell her, too -- and her wardrobe had changed to reflect it. Now, she pretty much always wore skirts, hose, and heels to work and when she went out, and her blouses somehow always kept unbuttoning themselves to expose some cleavage -- not a lot, just enough to get the mind thinking about it. She was pretty, no knockout, but pretty enough with long, thick auburn hair and a cute smile. Tonight, she was wearing a shimmery silver top, half unbuttoned, a navy skirt that went to mid-thigh, pantyhose, and matching navy 3" heel pumps. I knew this guy would need a cold shower tonight. I walked around the car to open her door for her -- mostly to make sure the guy could see I was tall, young, and fully capable of kicking the crap out of him. Mom walked over to me unsteadily, grabbed my arm, planted a kiss on my cheek with her bright-red lips, and whispered a thank you in my ear. In heels, she was just a couple of inches shorter than my own six-foot height, so it wasn't much of a stretch for her. She turned in the open door to wave goodnight to her erstwhile paramour with an impish grin -- she had a wicked sense of humor -- as I walked back around to the driver's side, wiping her lipstick off my cheek. I was putting on my seat belt as she was still trying to get into the small, low-to-the-ground sports car, and I watched the process with amusement and irritation -- it was late and I was tired. Since she was so drunk, Mom was having trouble staying balanced on her high heels, but she finally managed to get her butt against the back of the seat and slid down into the car. Her skirt, already pretty short, slid up her nylon-clad ass until the line of her control top was clearly visible on each thigh, just a couple of inches from the fork of her legs. Her butt, resting on the seat, was completely uncovered and the back of her skirt was trapped at the top of her waist. My eyes practically bugged out of my head -- I had always admired my mother's looks, but I had never had such a raw surge of desire and longing for anyone in my life. I stared for a couple of seconds, unable to turn away, until she began talking to me and thanking me for coming to get her in the middle of the night. I could feel the heat on my face as I turned away and started to drive, and my voice wasn't under control enough to respond to her. She must have thought I was angry with her, because she apologized several times, telling me she loved me, and that I was so good for coming to her. She kept reaching over and squeezing my hand on the gearshift, and every time she moved, I could hear the whisper of pantyhose rubbing together as her long legs slid along one another. I just kept my eyes straight ahead and grunted a few times in acknowledgement, not trusting my voice or facial expressions. After just a couple of minutes of driving, I could hear deep breathing, and glancing over, I saw Mom had fallen asleep. My eyes then dropped to her lap, and I caught myself staring at her legs again. They were slightly apart, and my eyes lovingly caressed them from her blue pumps all the way up to where the edge of her skirt barely kept her covered. The hem had even pulled up a little more during the ride, and just an inch of clothing blocked my view. I became obsessed with that bare inch as the ride went on, and every time I stopped the car at a light I focused on it, burning the vision of her near-completely exposed legs into my mind. Finally, I couldn't handle it anymore. My hand reached over and, ever so lightly, my finger hooked the bottom of her skirt. Slowly I pulled it up, until it was pooled all the way at her waist, and I fixed my eyes on my mother's pantyhose-covered crotch. I could clearly see under the control top that she didn't have on underwear. A dark patch of trimmed and sculpted thatch sat just above the curve of her lips. There was no pad obscuring the view; just a seam running through the center. My left hand drifted down into my own lap and began working on my own throbbing need as I stared, open-mouthed, at the view. Slowly, I placed a hand over her left knee and let my fingertips gently slide up her thigh, feeling the nylon slipping under my fingers with a soft rasp that nearly drove me over the edge as I came closer and closer to the heat between her legs. My heart lurched as she made a soft noise and shifted in her seat. Panicked, I quickly grabbed the hem of her skirt and gave it a short tug, covering her once again. I glued my eyes ahead once again as I waited to see if I had been caught. After a minute, heart thudding loudly in my chest, I began to relax - she hadn't woken up, hadn't known what I was doing. I started berating myself -- what the hell was wrong with me? What in the world possessed me to do such a thing? How could I have even begun to act this way towards my own mother? I finally arrived back at our condo, feeling guilty and ashamed, and Mom woke up as the car turned off. She smiled at me and thanked me again, and I grunted one more time as I got up to help her out. We needed to navigate a flight of stairs, and she was leaning on my heavily as she giggled her way up. I felt miserable -- tired, guilty, ashamed, and still, ragingly horny -- which just made me feel more guilty and ashamed. We got to the front door, and as I was starting to get the key into the lock, my mother lost her balance and lurched into the wall. Since she was still clutching me, I went with her, and I turned to her as I instinctively tried to catch her. I fell into her, and felt her soft breasts press into my chest and my knee slip between her thighs. I looked down, directly into her exposed cleavage, and from my vantage point I could see the lacy black edges of her bra cupping her freckled skin. We stayed in that position for just a second or two, Mom giggling, me feverishly aware of her thighs gripping my leg and soft body pressing against my rapidly hardening one. I pulled myself free and fumbled with the door until I finally got it open and lunged inside. My heart was racing all over again, and I was desperately trying to quell the instincts raging through me. She walked past me, wobbling slightly, and said some words that my brain never even registered as she went off to her room. I walked into my own room and tried to relax, now fully aware of exactly how that guy tonight must have felt. It wasn't working -- I wasn't even tired anymore, and I didn't feel like I was getting sleep any time soon. Several minutes of pacing followed, when I decided to get a drink and walked -- softly -- into the kitchen. Standing at the fridge, drinking some water, I could hear the same snoring sound coming from her bedroom. Peeking around the corner, I could see the door was half open. Part of me wanted desperately to just go back to my own room, but the rest of me was drawn to that tantalizingly open door. I gave in and walked over. She was asleep on top of the covers, still dressed, lying on her stomach, head turned to the left. Her legs were apart, still clad in nylons and heels. I have always been a leg man, and heels and hose were one of the first things that became objects of desire when puberty began. It began to dawn on me, in that moment, that all of my favorite turn-ons -- legs, heels, pantyhose, secretary outfits -- had their beginnings here, with this woman. I had to see more. Slowly, carefully, I got on the bed, until I was kneeling between my mother's legs, my knees next to her knees. I leaned back, putting my fingers on the heels of her pumps, and slowly ran them up the back of her legs, delighting in the silky feel. My hands slid under the edge of her skirt, and for the second time that night I pushed my mother's skirt up until it was bunched at her waist. My hands cupped her nylon-covered ass and my fingers began lightly squeezing. The pressure in me built up, and I could deny it no longer. I quickly undid my pants, and in just a few strokes I was done. I looked down and saw that I had splattered the backs of her legs, her butt, and the bedspread. A raw surge of panic went through me, coupled with the now familiar shame and guilt, and I scrambled for a towel. As I gently removed the evidence, I kept running over what I had just done -- an hour ago, she was thanking me for coming to get her, and now, I had just finished cumming on her. I pulled her skirt back down, threw the towel in the hamper in my room, and finally managed to fall asleep as the sun started to peak through my window. She never said anything about that night, so I assumed I wasn't caught. Over the next few days, I tried to convince myself that, now it was over with, and I wouldn't be bothered by my obsession any more. I would turn out to be wrong, and this was only the beginning. Awakening Obsession Ch. 02 A month had passed since my "incident" with my mother. Contrary to what I had hoped, I began to discover that my carnal interest in her was only getting stronger. I found myself staring at her crossed legs every morning at breakfast, sometimes dropping my napkin just to take a longer, lingering look. Practically every night, before I went to sleep, I was thinking of her as I frantically sought a release. I would pause every time I passed her bedroom door, glancing in to see if by some chance she was dressing or undressing. I couldn't get it out of my head. I even voluntarily helped out with my own torture -- I knew she was trying to catch the eye of her boss, so I was suggesting shorter skirts, more high heels, tighter shirts. While it added to my fantasy life, I was still wracked with guilt and shame every time I thought of her that way. I even started initiating more physical contact between us, brushing up against her coming through doorways, leaning into her while stretching past her to grab something off the counter I didn't need, squeezing her hip when she gave me a goodbye kiss on the cheek as she left for work. Growing up, I had given her foot massages every now and again, which is probably where I grew to relish the feel of nylon. Now, I was giving her at least 3 a week, passing it off as just something nice to do for her since I wasn't paying rent -- her on the couch, watching TV, me kneeling at the foot. I loved the feeling of her foot, still in her nylons after work, running my hands over her calf as I massaged them as well, surreptitiously keeping my eyes peeled for a flash up her skirt. Every moan of pleasure she gave added to the rock-hard pressure I felt, and when I was done I always needed to excuse myself and go into the bathroom for relief. I hated myself, after, and would vow that it was over, I wasn't doing it or thinking of it again, but a couple of days later, I was back at it. Nothing more happened for a while, but I wouldn't be disappointed long. It was a Friday night, and Mom had already told me she was going out that night with Donna -- some restaurant/bar had dancing after 9 pm, and they wanted to check it out. She mentioned something about her boss maybe dropping by there, so I knew she was going to go all-out tonight. My mind had kept thinking about it all day, just imagining what she'd look like, imagining some man pressing up against her, imagining myself pressing up against her -- it was a wonder I could get any work done. By the time I got home, I was a horny wreck. I did anything I could to take my mind off of her -- work out, watch TV, listen to music, whatever -- but my brain kept right on going back. I couldn't take it any more; I needed some kind of relief, some release of pressure. I knew Mom was going to be home late, and so I went into her room. It was neat, everything put away -- as always. I looked at the bed where a month ago I had knelt over her body and came all over her ass and legs. In my mind's eye, I wasn't just pleasuring myself; instead, I was kneeling between her spread legs with my face buried in her crotch, licking her into a frenzy. My heart rate started to pick up even faster. A minute later I found myself looking through the clothes in the closet, stroking the fabric of the skirts, running my fingers over the silky fronts of her blouses. I came across some lingerie hanging up, teddies and the like. I paused over each one, imagining her in them, her nipples poking through the lacy top of the blue one, the curve of her ass cheeks hanging just below the hem of the peach one. The last item was a corset, red and black, with garters for stockings dangling from the bottom. I pictured my mother cinched into it, freckled breasts nearly spilling out of the top, strutting around in black stockings and stiletto heels. I could feel her pressing into me, soft lips brushing mine while my hands slid down her back and cupped her ass cheeks, finally pushing her down onto the bed and entering her while she hooked her nyloned legs around my waist. I wanted her so badly at that moment, that had she been home, I have no idea what would have happened, what I may have done. I came out of it, flustered, hot, and suddenly ashamed. I quickly left the closet, meaning to try to get a hold of myself -- probably in more ways than one -- when I saw her dresser. Having just looked through all of her clothes, there was only one other thing to see, that I suddenly HAD to see. Still red-faced with shame, I walked over and began going through my mother's panty drawer. The front of the drawer had what would be typical for a woman in her forties -- plain white cotton, nothing interesting or racy. I was surprised by what was behind and under them. Black, red, and pink, lacy, silky, and see-through, high-cut, low-rider, and even some thongs. The variety and numbers surprised me -- despite her abundant sexiness, I was naïve enough to think that she was too conservative for what I was seeing. I was rapidly learning better. As I looked through them all, I realized that there were no stockings or pantyhose to be found, and I moved onto the next drawer. If I was surprised before, I was shocked now. The entire drawer was full of nylon hosiery, so much that it could barely be opened or shut. Black, taupe, nude, control top, sheer-to-waist, thigh-high stay-ups, stockings -- it was a sea of nylon. I looked through, counting in my head, stopping when I reached twenty and wasn't even halfway done. Slowly the thought began to dawn on me -- was my mother as into nylons as I was? Why else would she own so many pairs, wear them nearly every day? I had no real way of knowing for sure, but I clung to the thought as I became more and more aroused by it. My hands were still idly moving through the nylons, and something caught my eye long enough to break through my fevered thoughts. Far in the back, tucked into the corner, I saw a pair of pantyhose that looked a little different. Grabbing them, I saw what was different: they were crotchless. Even seeing her array of lingerie hadn't prepared me for that, naïve or not. The idea of my mother, sitting at the kitchen table, legs crossed to cover her otherwise exposed pussy, threw me into a whole new realm of fantasies. I have no idea why this particular article of clothing affected me so strongly; I guess it was the blatant sexual nature of them. They were designed so that pantyhose could be worn during sex. I thought of my mother, of all people, wanting or needing such easy access. It made her seem a little whorish, and that thought turned me on even more. It was more than I could take. I quickly pulled down the front of my sweatpants with my left hand and grabbed my erection with the right. The crotchless hose were still bunched in my hand, and a few seconds of the silky friction were all I needed to climax. Close on the heels of release came the feelings of panic. What do I do with her hose? Stuff them deep in the hamper and hope she doesn't notice? Wash them myself? I didn't really do the laundry -- would that be weird or suspicious? I decided that it was worth the risk -- much better than her finding her hose, crumpled and sticky -- and began gathering all the clothes, hers and mine, to struggle through the laundry. She probably wouldn't be home 'til late, and by then everything would be put away and I'd be free and clear. A few minutes later, the washing machine was running, and I went to my room to wait for the buzzer. Finally relaxing, I laid down on my bed and started to read. Bad idea. When I woke up, I wasn't sure of the time. What I was sure of was my mother was home, the laundry room door was open, a basket of clothes in front of the machine, and nothing was put away. I could hear voices -- for a second I thought she had brought a guy home with her, and was again surprised by a strong feeling of jealous possession. I soon recognized the voice as Donna's, my mom's friend. Donna was a couple of years younger than Mom, freshly divorced herself, and had done a lot to bring out the partier in my mother. They worked in the same building, had known each other a few years, and they grew a lot closer after my mother's divorce. I suspected it was Donna who talked my mom into getting the divorce in the first place, so I've always liked her. The fact that she was pretty hot for her age really helped too. She was shorter than Mom, probably around 5'4" or so, but I never saw her without heels on. She was tan year-round, dark-haired, and obviously spent a lot of time at the gym. When I saw her, she generally dressed much the same as my mother, business suits, skirts, heels -- I assumed she would pretty much head out after work and look for fun. The clothes my mother wore had changed quite a bit after she became friends with Donna -- I had originally thought it a product of the divorce, but now thought of it as imitation and admiration for her friend. Donna was a bit of a tease and a flirt, at least with me, but I always just passed it off as a game for her -- she would say something mildly suggestive to me, Mom would act shocked and admonish her, and everyone would laugh. She had spent many a night parading through my fantasies. At that moment, though, I wasn't thinking about Donna or anyone else. I was laying on top of my covers, in my boxers -- I had thrown my clothes in the basket to wash - with the lights on, and didn't want to try to explain what was going on. I quickly shut my eyes again and pretended to be asleep. I listened to 2 pairs of high heels click their way across the wood floor to my room while they chatted -- assuming I was awake -- then my mother shushing her friend when she got to the door and saw I was "asleep". I heard an "awww..." from Donna as my mother walked over and pulled a blanket over me. I could smell her perfume, intermingling with the faint scents of cigarette smoke and wine. As she started to leave Donna told her in a whisper that she'd be happy to tuck me in if Mom would just give her a few minutes. The usual fake-shock "Donna!" followed, and they both chuckled quietly. As the door began to close, I cracked my eyes, just to get a peek before they were gone. I saw them for only a second, but the image stayed in my mind as clear as a snapshot. As I'd suspected, Mom had outdone herself tonight. Her hair, slightly curly, hung loose to the middle of her back. She wore a tight shimmery white long-sleeved blouse tucked into a black leather miniskirt I'd never seen before. The skirt was short, shorter than I'd ever seen her wear, and if she'd bent over at the waist you'd have seen much of her bare ass. I knew she was wearing tan pantyhose -- the tops of her stockings would have been completely visible in that skirt -- and new shoes, patent leather heels with an ankle strap. Her left arm was stretched behind her, pulling the door closed, as well as pulling her shirt tight across her ample chest. Donna was framed in the doorway, weight shifted to her right leg, arms crossed, smiling at my mother. Her clothes were like a negative image of my mother's: black shirt, white skirt, white pumps, her tanned legs standing out in sharp contrast. Her breasts, smaller than Mom's, were pushed together by her crossed arms, and I could see the edge of white lace on the swell of one tanned breast. The door clicked shut, and I could hear them talking in low voices as they moved away from my room. I quickly got out of bed and moved over to the door so I could catch the conversation -- and what might happen when my mother saw the half-done laundry. I could tell they were in the kitchen, heard the clinking of glasses and the fridge door -- time for more wine. I heard it opened, and the click of heels leaving the kitchen. Any second now -- and there it was. The sound of walking had stopped in front of the utility closet. I cracked the door so I could hear. Mom must have said something about it being odd, because I next heard Donna say something about thinking it was sweet that I was trying to do the laundry. My mother hesitated a second; my heart thumped in my chest; then she said, "about time" and laughed. My whole body relaxed -- a coward dies a thousand deaths -- and I finally could breathe easy. I listened to them move into the living room -- it didn't take long, the condo was pretty small -- and settle on the couch. Some music started playing, soft and low, while they sat on the couch and talked. I was wide awake now, as well as relieved. The fear and apprehension I had felt was rapidly fading, and now the back of my mind starting clamoring for a second look at the two gorgeous women sitting thirty feet from my room. I couldn't see them from where I was -- the kitchen was in the way -- so I would have to sneak out, past the kitchen, and look around the corner. I could get caught -- anything was possible -- but I didn't care. The coward had already died enough times that night. I quickly slipped out of my room, leaving the door cracked, padded down the hall past the kitchen, and got down on the floor. I inched my way forward and looked around the corner, wall pressing into my left shoulder. They were on the couch, half turned and facing each other, Donna on my right. They each had a knee pulled up on the couch, the other foot on the floor. I couldn't see from my vantage point, but I knew that you'd be able to see straight up their skirts, and with how short they were to begin with, the exposure was probably close to 100%. Donna had her right elbow on the back of the couch, resting her head in her hand, and it pulled her shirt open enough that I could see the entire side of her right breast. I was surprised to learn why -- I was pretty sure the shirt was buttoned lower now that it was originally. I was a little surprised by that, and it made start to pay more attention to their behavior and less just ogling their legs. At first I didn't notice anything else odd, until my mother stretched forward to pick up her wine glass from the coffee table. As soon as she turned her head, I could see Donna's eyes drop down, looking between my mother's legs. She kept her eyes there the entire time my mother was drinking, lifting her eyes when she finally leaned back. Donna then shifted slightly, sliding forward just a bit and pulling her right knee a little higher. This movement pulled her skirt up a little more, increased the exposure, and left their knees touching lightly. Donna then turned her head and went for her own drink. I couldn't see my mother's eyes to tell for sure -- the angle was wrong -- but I swore her head lowered just slightly, and I was convinced that she was now taking in her own show. Donna seemed to know it, too; she took her time with her wine glass, just looking into nowhere in the living room, taking a sip, talking for a minute, sipping again, drawing it out. Mom's right hand had been resting on her own right thigh, but as Donna's show continued, that hand began to slowly slide up and down. As she stroked her leg, her hand moved towards her inner thigh and continued its long, sensual movement. I was riveted, but not enough to miss Donna glancing out of the corner of her eye at my mother's leg and smiling. Eventually Donna leaned back and Mom stopped moving her hand. Their conversation continued, and for the first time I actually began to listen. Donna was dismissing my mother's boss as a "tease", and I gradually figured from their conversation that he had shown up, danced with both of them, but left fairly early, and my mother wasn't too happy about it. It was a strange feeling, listening to my mother describe how horny she was -- a month ago I wouldn't have ever thought of my mother that way -- and complain about being tired of just getting herself off. Donna slid her hand over my mother's knee, and said, "Honey, you get this way EVERY time you drink," and they both laughed. Donna then got a mischievous look on her face, and said, "you should probably turn the music up a little -- don't want your baby boy to hear." As my mother got up, I froze in fear -- the stereo was right in front of me, about ten feet away. If my mother turned to her right, I'd be completely busted, in my boxers, sporting tremendous wood -- all in all, a bad position to be in. As I crouched, heart hammering in my chest, my mother was standing in front of me, fiddling with the stereo, making the music a little louder. The rest of the living room was now cut off from my vision, so I was surprised when Donna stepped up behind my mother. As she turned from the stereo, Donna stepped forward, placed her left hand on Mom's hip, brought her right hand up to the side of my mother's face, tilted her head down, and drew my mother into a deep kiss. I was thankful that the music was louder, since it helped cover the gasp that escaped my mouth. Of course, as intent as they were on each other, I'm not sure they would have noticed. After an initial moment of surprise, my mother was just as into the kiss as Donna; this wasn't the first time it's happened, I thought. Donna gently pushed my mother back against the wall between the stereo cabinet and her bedroom door, never breaking the kiss. After a few seconds, Donna's right hand slipped down, pushing my mother's shirt open. Her fingers slipped under the cup of the black bra, exposing the breast, and began to gently squeeze. The tanned hand gripped my mother's pale bosom familiarly, and the hardening nipple was visible between index and middle finger. Mom slid her hands down Donna's back, over her ass, then down to the hem of the short skirt. The back of the skirt was soon bunched at Donna's waist, and my mother was squeezing her nylon-covered ass. In response, Donna ran her left hand over the front of Mom's skirt and lifted it, exposing her pantyhose-covered crotch. Mom spread her legs slightly to accommodate the hand that was now working rhythmically between her legs. A few seconds of this, and Mom tilted her head back to lean against the wall. Her breathing was rapid, eyes closed, cheeks flushed. Her hips began thrusting forward in time with the strokes, and I could hear Donna whisper, "You love how that feels, don't you?" Mom didn't - or couldn't -- answer. Her friend bent her head down and began licking and gently sucking the exposed nipple. Mom's breathing continued to speed up, coming in short, sharp exhalations. Her eyes opened suddenly, with almost a look of dismay as she bent her head down, as the hand stopped its firm stroke of her crotch and shifted to her left breast. Soon enough, though, my mother's head hit the wall with an audible thunk, as Donna's right hand slid over Mom's pale belly and under the waistband of the sheer-to-waist hose. That hand started working, faster and faster, in time with Mom's gasps of air, and Donna had a smile on her face as she kept her eyes fixed on Mom's face. Soon, my mother's knees buckled slightly, her inner thigh muscles started to twitch, and gasps turned to moans. Donna gripped my mother's hair in her left hand and pulled her into another kiss, still working her right hand, as they rode Mom's orgasm until it tapered off. Donna pulled back and began to gently turn my mother, guiding her to the open door. My mother was now directly facing me, and thankfully her eyes were still closed or I would have been clearly visible, stroking myself with an intense look of passion and longing on my face. The hem on my mother's skirt had become trapped in her waistband as Donna's hand pulled out from it, and once again I had a clear view of her nylon-encased pussy, this time with a small wet spot darkening the front. Soon she was walking, wobbling slightly in her spike heels, Donna right behind her, fingernails dragging across the back of Mom's thighs. Donna whispered that she wasn't done with her yet, and then it was going to be her turn. The door clicked shut behind them. Awakening Obsession Ch. 02 I leaned against the wall next to the closed door, listening intently. Shortly after, I heard a faint metallic buzzing sound and my mother moaning louder and louder, thinking herself unheard in her room. I could easily follow along with the climax of my mother's pleasure, and when she came, we came together. I leaned, spent, against the wall, listening to the sounds of their lovemaking, and in those moments I heard Donna's words clearly running through my head -- my mother always gets horny when she drinks, and loves having her pantyhose crotch stroked. I vowed, right then, that I was going to have her myself, no matter what, and I began to plan how I could be the one bringing my mother to an orgasm, how I would make love to her. Awakening Obsession Ch. 03 It was the morning after I'd watched my mother brought to orgasm at the hands of her best friend. I'd been tortured in my dreams by visions of the two of them, doing things to each other, doing things to me. I'd finally given up trying to sleep and began muddling through the day, tired and horny. As I ate my cereal in the kitchen, I saw Donna's purse still on the counter. Immediately all I could think of was the two of them in Mom's bed, naked, bodies intertwined, relaxing after a long night of Sapphic pleasure. Christ, I thought, as I made myself even hornier than before. I finished breakfast and headed to the shower to both relieve myself and wake up. When I got out, I could hear them in the kitchen and smelled breakfast cooking. I threw on some sweatpants and a t-shirt and left my room, curious to watch how they acted towards one another. Donna was standing at the stove wearing one of my mother's thick robes, stirring up eggs in a skillet, while Mom was pouring some juice. Donna gave me a big smile and said good morning, then asked if I wanted some breakfast. I told her I'd love some and remarked that I didn't realize she was still here, since she wasn't on the couch when I woke up. I saw my mother's face go red out of the corner of my eye and her hand jerked slightly, nearly tipping one of the glasses. Donna just smiled and said that she must have already been in the shower by then. I knew better, but let it drop. While we ate, I asked questions about how their night went. Clearly Mom wasn't able to give evasive answers, or keep herself from blushing every time I asked another question, so Donna did most of the talking. Her answers were quick and believable enough that you never would have thought that she spent the prior evening getting my mother off. She and I chatted quite amiably while my mother blushed and crossed and uncrossed her legs. When I asked if she was sore and worn out from all the dancing, she nearly choked on her orange juice, and Donna's answer of "well, she was going at it pretty hard last night" didn't help her recover. A couple of hours later, Donna was leaving. She'd changed back into the prior evening's clothes and walked to the door with my Mom, who was still in her bathrobe. I said goodbye and walked into my room, which was directly across from the front door, swinging my door mostly shut behind me. I immediately turned and looked through the crack, to watch their goodbyes. Any thoughts that I'd dreamt the whole encounter vanished after Mom glanced at my door, then stepped forward into Donna, drawing her into a slow kiss. Donna's right hand vanished, and from the movements of Mom's robe I guessed that it was getting one last caress of my mother's breasts. After they broke the kiss I could hear my mother thank her girlfriend, followed by Donna's assurance that the pleasure was definitely hers. After the door shut, my mother sighed and turned around, unwittingly showing me her exposed left breast before pulling her robe shut as she walked away. I shut my eyes, and renewed my vow from last night to myself. The first elements of the plan started to come together. A few weeks later, I was ready. A lot of the plan – too much, really, for my taste – was going to have to rely on chance, but I chalked that up to the impossibility of coming up with a foolproof plan to seduce one's mother. It was a Friday night, Mom's dance night, only this time her and Donna were going to have company – me. Earlier in the week I'd expressed to Mom that I got worried about her and Donna drinking and driving, and even though she was pretty good about calling me, I thought it might be a good idea if they were going to be drinking, then I could just come along instead of driving out to wherever they were. She was genuinely excited by the idea; from her reaction, she thought we'd have a lot of fun. She even said getting me drinks wouldn't be a problem. My mother was often more concerned with everyone having a good time rather than dealing with the incongruity of having her designated driver drinking alcohol. I got dressed up for the occasion, nothing extravagant by any stretch, but fairly formal for me. I left the normal jeans and t-shirt behind for a button-down white shirt and grey pants. I put on my mother's favorite cologne – she'd bought it for me a couple of weeks ago when we were out. I'd asked her opinion on what the best one would be, so she picked the one she liked the most. I'd even gotten a haircut that day, since she always said how much better I looked with short hair. I was nervous and excited, my pulse was pounding, but I was ready. The shame and self-loathing was long gone – I'd left those feelings far behind. Now or never, I said to myself, and with a last glance of the mirror, went out to the kitchen to wait. There was a small pint bottle of Seagram's 7 on the counter, which apparently was going with me – Mom knew that I liked it and it was small enough to go in a jacket pocket. I could hear that she was still getting ready, so I poured a drink to calm my nerves and give me something to do. I was imagining how the night might go, how I might work anything unusual into the plan, when I heard a wolf whistle from behind me. Mom had come out and saw my look for the evening. She exclaimed over my haircut and ran her fingers in it. I jumped a little at her touch, and barely heard her going on about how nice I looked and how I should dress this way all the time. She paused, and sniffed as she leaned in to me. She gave me an "mmmm" and told me that I'd be popular tonight. With that, she stepped back and asked me how she looked. I drank in the sight of her, starting at the top of her styled auburn hair. She had heavier makeup on than normal, but still not a lot, just a dark red lipstick, smoky eyes, and a hint of blush. She was wearing her white silk blouse – I'd made sure to tell her I really liked it earlier in the week, that it was very flattering – unbuttoned enough to show a hint of her freckled cleavage. The shirt was tight enough that the last button hiding cleavage was visibly pulled taut. Her shirt was tucked into a new dark red miniskirt that matched her lips and stopped at mid-thigh. Her long legs were in taupe pantyhose and ended in a new pair of dark-red pumps with 4" heels and an ankle strap. How did she look? I couldn't tell her what I wanted to say, that she looked so good I wanted to bend her over the counter and take her right there, or that I could have licked every inch of her. What finally came out was that she looked great, in a sort of hoarse croak. She must have picked up on something in my voice or face, because she looked at me oddly for a moment and smiled. She said that was the reaction she was going for, and that she wanted to turn some heads. I found my courage, and laughed, and said that if she wanted to turn some more heads then she should make an adjustment. I stepped forward, brought my hands up to her shirt and quickly undid a button, fully exposing her cleavage as well as the edge of her bra – a dark red, matching everything else. She looked surprised as I did so and looked at me briefly, shocked, and then laughed. She stepped past me, swatting me playfully on the rump and calling me a brat. I could tell she was pleased though, and she never bothered to button her shirt. She grabbed a glass and poured some red wine into it, and we chatted for a little while in the kitchen, me sneaking looks at her legs and sipping a drink of my own. A little while and a couple of glasses of wine later, she said it was about time to go get Donna, and turned around to grab the phone. It was on the far side of the counter, and she bent over at the waist to retrieve it. She stayed that way as she talked into the phone, resting on her elbows. The skirt rode up in the back far enough to expose the line of her nylon pantyhose top, and I stared at her, fully aroused. My mind wondered what she would do if I stepped forward and slid my hands up her skirt, gripping her ass, as I had done to her before. She started to hang up the phone and I turned around quickly to hide my noticeable excitement. She announced that she was ready and I replied emphatically that I was ready too. I made a big deal of it as we went to the car, extending my elbow and waiting for her to slip her arm through it. She laughed, loving it, and I opened the back door of the car – the sedan, not the 'Vette – and let her in. I stepped around to the front of the door to watch her get in. She didn't demurely sit then swing her legs in, knees together; as I'd hoped, she swung one sexy leg in first as she sat. This spread her legs apart enough for me to tell that she wasn't wearing panties, just the hose. She thanked me for being a gentleman, and I smiled and mentally thanked her for the show. I got in the front seat and made a show of adjusting the seat and mirror. She was checking her makeup and I set the mirror so that it was reflecting her legs. As I drove to Donna's, I spent more time looking in that mirror than I did the road. Every time she shifted or crossed her legs the show made it worth it. I was lucky not to drive into anyone on the short trip. When we got to Donna's, I had just gotten out of the car and opened the back door behind my seat when Mom's girlfriend came walking out. She was wearing a brown plaid pleated skirt, matching Mary Jane pumps, and a white shirt. She did a nice job of evoking the classic schoolgirl look without being too blatant about it; no pigtails or anything too over-the-top. She smiled brightly at me as she passed and gave my butt a playful squeeze before she got in. I got a good look at her as well – suntan sheer-to-waist, no underwear – before I took a deep breath and prepared to escort them out for the evening. While I drove, I again kept my eyes on the mirror, and they had obligingly sat closer to the middle of the back seat. They were talking about the coming night, who might be there, nothing exciting, but I watched Donna's manicured hands occasionally venture over to touch my mother's thigh briefly. When we were about halfway there, Donna started talking about some guy that they met the last time they were there, and the way she was lightly teasing my mother gave me the impression that Mom was interested in him. As she was talking, I saw her hand once again rest on Mom's thigh, but instead of moving back, it started to run slowly along the crossed leg, up to the knee, down to the hem of the skirt. Mom uncrossed her leg and left her knees slightly apart; I'm not sure if she was even aware of doing it, or if it was like Pavlov's dog responding automatically. Donna's fingers started to trail along the inner thigh, pushing the skirt hem up a little higher with each passage. I was wondering how far it might go, when we unfortunately arrived at our destination. I hid my excitement as best I could as I opened the door for each of them, but their method of exiting the vehicle wasn't any different from how they entered it, and that kept the front of my pants uncomfortably tight. They didn't seem to notice, thankfully, so I extended an arm to each of them and relished the feel of their arms through mine. As we walked across the asphalt lot, Mom began to apologize to me for anything she might do to embarrass me tonight. I told them both that I was there to enjoy myself and their company, not get in their way or interfere with their fun. She squeezed my arm gratefully and seemed to relax again. I hadn't noticed her nervousness about the evening until then, so I tried to put her at ease. An hour later, my mother obviously wasn't nervous any more. After a few shots, she and Donna were loose and laughing. I'd never seen my mother drink like that, usually sticking to wine and the like, and hearing her curse and make risqué jokes was a surprise to me. I kept my word, though, laughing along, taking a drink now and again myself. They'd insisted that I join them on their last 2 rounds of shots as well, so I was feeling pretty good myself, and was egging them on. They'd point out some of the female patrons of the bar and tell me I could probably go home with one of them – I was at least 20 years younger than everyone else, including the staff – until I told them that I was already sitting at the table with the two best looking ladies there, so why would I settle for less? They laughed, toasted me, and downed another shot. We were sitting in a booth in the lounge area of the restaurant, just off the dance floor. The crowd, as I said, was mostly older folks, and the music and atmosphere definitely catered to them. The music didn't bother me much – Mom listened to it all the time, so I was used to it, and could enjoy it – and I kind of enjoyed watching a bunch of overweight middle-aged dudes trying to score. Mom and I were on the same side of the booth, me to the inside, so they could get up and dance when they wanted. There was maybe twenty people total in the place, but they told me it was early yet. The drinks kept flowing, and they more they had the more Mom encouraged me to drink and "loosen up". I got an iced tea and started pouring it into a shotglass when they got up. It looked enough like booze that they thought it was, and I wanted to keep a clear enough head to follow my plan. As the place started picking up around 11, I saw an opportunity to work new elements into the plan. Donna and Mom were back at the table, drinking some wine, slurring some words, and having a blast. Donna suddenly grabbed my mother's wrist across the table and told Mom to look at the door. Curious, I looked over as well, and saw another 50-year-old guy walk in. He looked better than most of the other guys, I suppose, and definitely looked like he had some money. With him was an attractive woman who would have been younger than everyone in the place, if I hadn't been there, probably in her early 30's, dolled up and looking like an expensive trophy. Mom made a cutting remark about the "obvious paid escort" and by the tone in her voice I could tell she was jealous. Donna helpfully clued me in: apparently, the last time they were here, Mom had made some moves on him. He'd brushed her off, and apparently she wasn't taking it well. I thought of how this could help my own game. While they were alternating put-downs between them for the newcomers, I cut them off and said I had an idea. Sure, he's with a younger pretty woman, but I was there – why not be the young man hanging on Mom's arm? They didn't need to know I was her son, and we hadn't told anyone up to that point. Mom laughed and blushed, a little, but Donna was all over the idea – she loved it. She volunteered to call attention to the whole thing. One drink later, and she got up heading to the guy's table, giving us a last quick admonition to make it look good. Mom slid over a little, so that we were hip-to-hip, and turned toward me like we were deep in intimate conversation. She kept asking me if the guy was looking and how he was reacting, so I kept flicking my eyes in that direction. When I saw him finally look over, I looked back at Mom, smiled, and slid my hand over her left knee, which was crossed over her right. She jumped a little, but I just smiled and told her the guy was watching. I kept caressing her knee with my left hand, loving the feel of silky nylon under my fingers. I told her to lean in close, like we were kissing. Her face was flushed and her eyes were wide; I guess putting a half-inch between our lips and pretending to be on a date with her son made her nervous. I whispered to her to relax and slowly moved my hand just a couple of inches up her thigh, sliding it back to her knee, then a little farther up her leg with every stroke. She closed her eyes and started to breathe a little heavy, panting almost. After a minute, I squeezed her thigh and pulled back, moving my hand away and grabbing my drink. The guy was giving me the eye, like a sort of challenging look, I guess, like I was in the old dog's territory and he didn't appreciate it much. Mom kept her eyes closed a second or two, still breathing a trifle heavy, and then grabbed her own drink and finished it in a long swallow. Her cheeks were still flushed, and I started to think it wasn't just nerves. If drinking made her horny, then she should be feeling it pretty strong by now, and I suspected getting her thigh stroked started to rev her engine. Donna came back in a state of high glee. "That was awesome!" she said, sliding back into the booth. "From there, it looked like you were making out. Brent was steaming!" She laughed again and finished her own drink. "Oh God, this is going to be so much fun!" Mom, still flushed, must have looked a question at her, but Donna said, "Uh-uh, you can't stop now. He needs to be taken down a notch." I could have kissed Donna then and there. She was playing this right into my hands. I smiled at Mom and said, "This will be fun. No one disses my Mom." They laughed together, and once again we toasted with their fresh drinks. Over the next couple of hours, Mom began to grow into her role. The alcohol was definitely blurring the lines of propriety for her. I sat with my left arm behind her, trailing my fingers over her shoulder, sliding them over the silk, and occasionally brought my right hand over to touch her thigh. She started putting her hand on my thigh, for just a couple of seconds at first, but after a while just left it there. Soon enough, when she wasn't really paying attention, she would start moving her hand up and down my leg, then catch herself and stop – but she didn't take her hand away, and soon enough it would start of its own accord. Donna was keeping an eye on my boy Brent, and would tell us when to "kiss". After a couple more times, the nerves were gone; she'd lean in eagerly, and started resting her pursed lips on mine, like she was giving me a kiss on the cheek and leaving it there. It was killing me, having her lips pressing on mine, breasts pushing into my chest, her thigh under my hand, and still having that barrier between us. A few more times, and she didn't even need Donna's prodding. We were close, "kissing", when Donna suddenly whispered, "Shit – he's coming over!" I seized my chance, softened my lips, and began to kiss her for real. Her eyes opened wide, but her lips softened in turn, and for a brief second we kissed like lovers. I broke off, slowly, but didn't want to press too far at first. It would take time to break down all the barriers I had to, and I needed to take it easy, gaining a little ground each time. "Nicely done!" Donna whispered, just before our guest arrived. Again, Mom's face was flush, and she looked either nervous or excited; a glance at the front of her blouse and her hardened nipples gave me a clue as to which she was becoming. As the guy arrived, we all looked over at him, and I think I surprised him when I half-rose from the bench and leaned over with my hand extended. "You must be Brent," I said, and added, "I've heard a lot about you. Tom." He hesitated, but had no real choice but to shake my hand and repeat my fake name. I shook his hand firmly, but not too much so – nothing says overcompensation like a death grip or attempt to break someone's hand. His own grasp was a lot harder – of course – but I just kept smiling. He released my hand and I sat down. I was acting a little arrogant, but I wanted to put on a show for Mom. He spoke to them briefly, until Donna slid over with an impish grin and told him to stay for a drink. I could tell the guy was very image-conscious; he couldn't refuse without looking bad, so with a fixed smile that didn't touch his eyes he sat down. He kept on talking to my mother, asking her all sorts of questions, quite obviously chatting her up. I couldn't accept it meekly – he was marking his territory – so I interrupted him and started talking to him myself. As I did, I put my left hand over my mother's right thigh, which was now crossed over her left, and began to stroke it once again. No way he could have seen it, but I was playing my part. After a second, Mom uncrossed her legs, leaving her thighs slightly apart, and I was thankful for that reflex. As I talked to my rival, my fingers were gently trailing along my mother's inner thigh, a little higher each time, until I was touching the hem of her skirt on the upswing. Her right hand was on my own thigh, and I felt it squeeze every now and again, seemingly purely out of reflex. My conversation with Brent wasn't purely civil, and got a little worse as it went. He was making subtle digs at my age, and I was happy to make my own at his. When he bragged about his "gorgeous girlfriend", I snorted and said that I was with the hottest thing in the room – my thigh got a long thankful squeeze for that - and asked him if his girl was so hot, why did he need to come over here? After letting him know that he'd never be able to handle Mom, heart wouldn't take it, he got red, finished his drink, and stood up. Awakening Obsession Ch. 03 They both burst into quiet giggles, and Mom turned to me and said, "I could kiss you for that." I lied and said, "He's watching, so do it!" Still giggling, she leaned in, and I met her lips again. It was brief, there was no tongue, but we kissed for real that time, our lips brushing softly against each other, my hand gently squeezing her thigh, her squeezing mine. That first kiss was electricity to me, and if she'd slid her hand up my leg a couple of inches she would have been surprised at my total and complete arousal. For the first time, I truly believed that I might have a chance to pull this off. Shortly after, Mom got up and went to the ladies' room. I could tell Donna was pretty far gone; there was no way she would have thought that kiss was anything normal if she'd been lucid. Now, though, she didn't seem to notice anything unusual between my mother and me. As we sat at the booth, Donna looked at me and said, "OK, now I'm getting jealous." At first I wasn't sure how to take it or who she was jealous of; after all, this was the woman I'd watched get my mother off, so I at first assumed she was jealous of me and the attention I was paying to Mom. As I sat, confused, she said, "I want a good-looking guy to spend time with me. C'mon, let's dance." With that, she grabbed my hand and started to get up. I don't normally dance a lot, but I had learned how to dance to the music they liked, so I didn't have a problem joining her. The song was some kind of disco number – keeping track of the genres of '70s music wasn't my thing – and pretty fast paced. As we bopped along, I noticed my mother had returned to the booth and was watching us. I was pretty sure Donna noticed too, because she started grabbing my hands and twirling and doing more interactive stuff with me. During one sequence, I saw Mom's eyes widen as she looked at Donna, and I realized that with each twirl, Donna's skirt was raising up and flashing the table. We weren't more than 5 feet from the booth, so Mom was getting an eyeful. I noticed Mom starting to slowly stroke her own thigh, and remembered her doing that same action while she was looking up Donna's skirt the other night. Things were getting better and better for me. The next song started up, some crooner song, slow and "romantic". Donna stepped in close to me, and I gladly took hold of her firm body. Three months ago, I'd have been doing everything in my power to get with this woman, but tonight I had a different goal in mind. I wasn't above using her to my advantage, however. As we danced close, my hands on her waist, hers over my shoulders and clasped behind my neck, she complimented me on my dancing – now I knew she must have been really drunk – and told me how nice I smelled. She moved her head in close to my neck, and I could feel her breath hot on my neck. She was brushing my neck and cheek lightly with her nose and mouth and pulled me even tighter into her. I was loving it – I made a mental note that once this plan was done, I needed to make another one for Donna – and noticed an odd look on Mom's face as she watched us. I would swear that she looked jealous – of Donna. As if she should be the one dancing with me. As we continued our slow dance, I slipped my hands down over Donna's ass. Her reaction was to grind her pelvis into mine a little harder. Encouraged, I waited until our slow rotation brought me around to wear I was facing my mother, and where she had a clear view of me lifting Donna's skirt to slide my hands over her exposed butt. Her eyes widened as they fixed on Donna's nylon-covered ass and my hands lightly brushing her cheeks with my fingers. Her face slowly flushed, and her hand started rubbing her thigh a little faster. She even licked her lips for a brief second. For the duration of the song, each time we circled around and faced my mother, I'd give her a little show, then drop the skirt as we turned back around to the rest of the dance floor. When the song ended, Donna whispered, "You're naughty – I like that!" and quickly squeezed the stiffness in the front of my pants. As we stepped back to the booth, Mom got up to let me into the seat and asked Donna, with some playful heat to her words, if she liked the dance. Before Donna could answer, I said, "I hope so, 'cause it's your turn now!" I grabbed Mom's hand and pulled her out with me. I put my hands around her waist, so she had no choice but to hold onto me, putting her left hand on my right shoulder and her right hand on my waist. Our bodies weren't touching, and she seemed stiff and awkward, even though we'd danced a hundred times together before. I leaned in close to her and whispered, "We can't let Brent think you're losing your date to your friend," and briefly nodded my head to the right. Mom's eyes followed my head movement, and she could see a smirking Brent looking at her while he danced with his lady. As we watched he looked away and dipped the woman, starting to put on more of a show. My mother's eyes tightened, and she said something about showing that jerk. She moved in closer to me, her ample chest pressing into mine, and curled her left hand around the back of my neck. She leaned her head in so that we were cheek-to-cheek. Since her heels made us nearly eye-to-eye, it was easy for me to tilt my head down slightly, so that my breath was brushing her neck. This was a very different experience for me – before, when we danced, I was always thinking about the steps, what I was supposed to do, things like that. Now, all I concentrated on was the feeling of her body against mine, the smell of her hair and perfume, the luscious womanly curves underneath my hands. She must have been feeling something similar, as any trace of awkwardness was gone, and our bodies gradually came closer and closer together. My hands started moving slightly, lightly rubbing her hips. The feeling of the satin lining of her skirt sliding against her nylons made my hands move a little more as each minute passed. Her hand tightened on the back of my neck as my lips brushed the curve of her neck and I could hear her breath start to pant in my ear. When the song ended, I realized that my hands were still on my mother's ass. I slowly slid them back to her hips as I took a half-step away from her, nervous that I may have pressed things too far. I kept a confident face, though, smiling at my mother as if everything was quite normal. I must have been underestimating her level of drunkenness and horniness; she leaned forward, squeezing my hand, and kissed my cheek and said that she was glad she taught me how to dance. She led me back to the table by the hand and was glowing when she slid in after me. She sat close, hip to hip, and put her hand on my left thigh while she asked Donna about Brent's reaction. While they laughed about his consternation, I just relaxed, enjoying the feeling of her closeness and her casual intimacy. I thought my plan was proceeding smoothly, better than I'd even hoped. I soon realized a serious flaw in my plan. It was getting near to closing time and the crowd was thinning out a bit. I was coming back from the bathroom, feeling pretty good about myself, when I saw a major problem. While I was gone, Donna had sat down on my side of the booth, so now she was on the outside and my mother was on the inside. I saw Donna's hand sliding up and down my mother's leg, and she was whispering something in Mom's ear. My mother's face was flushed and she had a smile on her lips. I felt like an idiot. Of course, my mother was worked up, and here she was with someone who could and would do something about it, who wasn't me. My mind started racing, and I came up with just one hope: I needed Donna to pass out before she could get to our house. Desperately scrambling for an idea, I walked back to the table. I knew Donna had just gone to the bathroom, but my Mom didn't join her, so when I got back I suggested this was the last call for a stop before we left. I sighed inwardly in relief as my mother slid out of the booth and Donna stayed put. We both watched my mother walk across the floor; she was wobbling more than a little. I turned to Donna, smiled, and suggested a couple of shots before we left. Knowing her party attitude, Donna was all for it. I went to bar and ordered 8 shots. I didn't have any problems with trifles like IDs or anything – a $100 tip on the bar bill helped that – and came back to the table loaded for bear. Donna gasped when I spread the shots out, 4 per side. I told her that if it was too much for her, I understood, and she rose to my challenge just like I knew she would. My only hope was the fact that I'd had a whole lot less to drink than they thought, and that I could handle the influx. We each went through the first 3 shots back-to-back. As she finished her fourth, I pretended – it was easy – that I just couldn't take another. She made a remark about kids thinking they could hang tough, and as I'd hoped, drank my last shot. I prayed that it would be enough on the car ride to put her out. The three of us walked out much as we'd come in, one on each arm, except now they each needed the arm to help for balance. I assisted them into the car, getting my expected upskirt shot, and settled in. As before, they slid together towards the middle of the seat. I turned the car on, turned the radio up slightly, and pushed the fader so that all the sound was coming from the rear speakers; I figured that way they might think that I'd hear a less than I was actually able too. I turned the heat up a little more than I needed to as well, hoping that it may help speed Donna off to sleep. My hopes started to sink as I drove. As soon as the car was moving, I saw Donna's hand slide its way up my mother's thigh and right under the hem of her skirt. Mom's knees spread apart and soon I was watching Donna's hand working rhythmically in my mother's lap. I changed lanes so I could take a quick glance in the back seat: Mom's eyes were shut and breathing heavy as Donna kissed along the curve of her neck. Shortly after, I could hear their lips softly working as they kissed. I was nearly to the house and my plan was falling apart. I had to do something, so at the next intersection, I made a wrong turn. They were too busy to notice and too drunk to think about their driver, so I kept my eyes in the mirror, watching them caress each other, and kept driving. Some time later, I could have sworn I heard a whimper from the back seat. Donna's hand wasn't moving anymore and was lying loosely on my mother's leg. Another lane change and quick glance back showed her head resting against the back of the seat. I quickly started heading in the right direction for home; I'd been keeping close to the right way and knew it would only be a couple of minutes to get to the house. Mom kept talking to Donna, but her return replies were just garbled nonsense. Newly confident, I pulled up to the house and got ready to complete the deal. As I let Mom out, she started complaining; she wasn't done having fun. I said everything would be alright and ended up carrying Donna up the stairs. Thank goodness she was light, because I was pretty buzzed from that final round and barely managed to make it up the stairs without incident. I heroically stood by while Mom fiddled with the door and got it open. Finally, I was able to deposit her friend on the couch. In the process, the front of Donna's skirt flipped up, so her neatly trimmed crotch was clearly visible through the sheer hose. Happy accident, I thought, as I pretended not to notice and walked out of the room. I stopped in the bathroom, got myself off quickly – if something happened, I didn't want it to be over too soon - splashed some water on my face, checked my hair, and walked into the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses and walked back out into the living room. Mom was sitting on the end of the couch, staring down at Donna. It was pretty dark in there still, but I could clearly see that my mother's skirt was pulled up enough to allow her hand access to her own lap. I put the wine down on the table and walked over to the radio, turning on some light, slow music. I could see Mom in the reflection of the glass cabinet, and saw her quickly pull down her skirt and flip Donna's back into place as she became aware that I was in the room. My last stop was the dimmer switch, which I used to add just a little light into the room. When I turned around, Mom was pouring herself a glass of wine and looking flushed and frustrated. As I poured my own glass, I apologized to my mother. Startled, she looked at me confused, and I explained my remark to mean that I'd basically made sure she ended up coming home alone. She smiled and told me not to worry about it, that she'd had a great time, that she was lucky to have someone like me in her life. I thanked her, and told her that the night wasn't quite over yet. I set my wine down, grasped her right hand and gently moved her towards the open area of the living room, pausing to let her set her own glass. She smiled and laughed as I swept her into my arms and began to dance with her. Soon after, my hands were gently squeezing her hips, her arms were around my waist, and our bodies were pressed together. As before, I gradually moved my hands around to her rear, enjoying the sliding action of her skirt under my fingers. My breath was warm on her neck as I brushed my cheek against the side of her face. Mentally I braced myself as I prepared for the next, bolder step. I extended my fingers, resting them on her skirt, then curled them into my palm, gathering the fabric in my hands. I repeated the procedure, each time getting a little more of her skirt, until I reached the hem. I then brushed my lips softly against her neck, and again, softly kissing along the curve of her neck. I heard an intake of breath next to my ear, and her right hand moved up to cup the back of my head. Her breath began to return to the near-pant from before. Encouraged, I slipped my hands onto her silky nylon ass, as I had months earlier, letting her skirt rest on my wrists. Her only response was to gently thrust her pelvis into mine, where they began to softly grind together. I don't know who she thought she was dancing with in her drunken state: Brent, random guy X, or, hell, if she knew it was me. Whoever she thought I was, her increasing need for intimate contact was becoming clearer and clearer. I started softly kissing up along her jawline, until we were face-to-face, lips nearly touching. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes half-open. I saw her eyes look up towards mine, then down to my mouth, and I closed the slight remaining difference between us. The kiss was long, slow, and sensual, and when our tongues delicately touched for the first time, my passion and desire for this woman grew exponentially. The kiss grew more intense, the hand cupping the back of my head pushing me forward, any pretense of dancing completely forgotten. When the kiss broke, her eyes again looked into mine, but widened this time. She stepped back, her skirt sliding back down over her hips, with a look of confusion on her face. Shit, I thought. My own need was burning in me, and I was so close to realization of my obsession. I had gotten her drunk, inflamed her arousal, fended off my rivals, and now I just needed to get her clothes off. I had somewhat planned for this moment, just in case, so I had a couple of ideas. I started talking, thanking her for the dance, trying to act like everything was totally normal. She seemed to be fading in and out of awareness, balancing between blackout, passing out, and staying coherent. I kept talking, a constant stream of nothing important, talking about how much fun I'd had and sipping from the wineglass. As I'd hoped, she looked at the table, saw her own glass, picked it up and started to drink. Perfect. As I set my own glass back on the table, I "accidently" jostled my mother's elbow. Red wine spilled down either side of her mouth, running onto her white silk blouse and spattering my own white shirt. I cursed loudly and started fretting about her blouse staining. Helpfully, I insisted that she take it off. The spill had brought her back to lucidity, slightly, so she was aware of the ramifications of red wine on white silk, and instinctively she began to unbutton her shirt, giggling as she did so. I helped guide her the few steps over to the laundry area while she worked on the buttons, and where I had, before we went out, already gotten the water ready to soak and remove a red wine stain from a white silk blouse. I removed my own shirt, and then helped slip my mother's shirt off her shoulders. My fingertips tingled as they lightly glided over the bare skin of her arms. I tossed the shirt into the waiting water, and said, hoarsely, that some got on her skirt as well. Her hands moved behind her, where they undid the button on the top of the skirt and pulled the zipper down a couple of inches. My hands trembled with anticipation as they went to her hips and then slid the skirt down my mother's legs. I helped her step out of the skirt as it lay puddled on the floor, sliding my hand up each taut calf and guiding her feet to either side. I picked up the skirt and tossed it onto the dryer. She was still giggling as she turned around, and I couldn't help but stare at her body in the dim light. The lacy cups of her maroon bra barely covered her nipples and pressed her breasts together, creating the tantalizing cleavage she'd been showing all night. Her long legs were gorgeous in her hose and heels, and the light wasn't dim enough to hide the dark patch of trimmed hair between her legs. Her hips were round and curvy, creating a perfect hourglass that I prized above any skinny model's figure. She started to walk past me to her room, eyes mostly shut, hand on her forehead, saying something about needing to lay down. I fell into step behind her, watching her ass as it bunched and rolled with each step, mesmerized by the sway of her hips. We walked into her room, and I was surprised when, instead of going to the bed on the left, she went to the right, towards her closet and bathroom. She stopped in front of the vanity, where her makeup stood in orderly rows in front of the mirror, and flicked on the light. I'd anticipated making my final move in the dark, where she'd be much less likely to realize who I was. I hesitated as she looked into the mirror, apprehensive of the light, needing to go on. As she put her foot on the small stool she kept there and bent over to undo the ankle strap on her right leg, I decided. I stepped forward, sliding my hands over her shoulders and bending down to kiss her neck. As I continued kissing along the curve of her neck to her shoulder, she straightened, forgetting about her shoe, putting her left hand on the counter for balance and putting her right hand over mine as it gently rubbed her shoulder. I watched her face in the mirror as she tilted her head back to rest on my shoulder, lips parted, breath almost audible enough to become a moan. The mirror reflected the companion full-length mirror behind me, and the image of us in a lover's embrace was replicated a dozen times. My hands slid down her sides, to her waist, then her hips. Her right foot was still on the stool, and my right hand stroked her thigh, rasping against the nylon, then moved to her inner thigh, until finally moving up to glide between her legs. Her first real moan spilled out and her back arched against my chest. Even through the nylon covering her I could feel her heat and dampness. As I continued stroking her sex, I brought my left hand up to squeeze her left breast. "You love how this feels, don't you?" I whispered into her ear as her hips began tilting forward to increase the pressure from my hand. I started to suck and bite harder on her neck, and her moans echoed louder and louder in the small space we were in. As I watched her face and the pleasure written across it, her eyes opened and focused on mine, clearer than they had been. My mother took her leg down from the stool and pulled away from me, turning around so that we were face-to-face, the tops of her thighs pressing against the counter behind her. "Don't...we can't...I..." she panted, left hand pressed against her chest. Awakening Obsession Ch. 03 I was too far gone, however, to listen to anything she was saying. I was this close, and I would not be turned away. Neither shame nor guilt had any sway over me any longer, and fear and apprehension were dwarfed beneath my raging desire. I stepped forward, kissing the left side of her throat and moving down her neck to her chest as I sank down on my knees, my hands gliding down her hips to caress the backs of her knees. I was facing the soaked-through front of her pantyhose, and I could begin to catch the scent of her. Entranced, I leaned forward, and slowly drew my tongue up the curve of her lips, getting my first taste of her. I couldn't stop; I ran my tongue along the nylon that formed the last barrier between us. I glanced up at her as she leaned back above me, and I could see that her eyes were open, looking at full-length mirror behind me, watching her son working his tongue between her legs with abandon. I continued, relishing the taste and feel of friction on my tongue, when I felt her hand interpose itself between me and her sex. I pulled back, panting, frustrated, and desperate. That was when her fingers curled into a fist, red fingernails digging into nylon, and my mother tore open the crotch of her pantyhose. The instant her hand was gone my mouth replaced it, tongue eagerly slipping into her folds, tasting her sex and her sweat. I felt her hand on top of my head, gripping my hair in her fingers, pulling me into her with the strength of her arousal. I slid my hands up to her ass and gripped hard as I continued driving at her with my mouth. Her moans came quicker and louder, and I could feel the thighs on either side of my head tighten, could feel the muscles in them twitching, and with a last wrenching pull of my hair my mother came. Slowly I pulled away, hands fumbling at the front of my pants, and I drew them down as I stood, flushed, excited, and fully erect. She was leaning back, nearly sitting on the counter, back pressed against the mirror behind her, legs open and still twitching. I stepped forward, slipping a hand under each thigh, and pushed her back slightly on the counter as I lifted her legs and spread them further. Makeup and perfume bottles spilled and rolled across the counter, but we were beyond caring. I pressed myself against her, hesitating, then slowly and deliberately entered her. I shuddered as I slid through her wet and ready sex, inch by inch, until I was buried in her. She gasped and moaned, legs hooking around my waist until she crossed her ankles behind my back, resting her high heels on my ass. I lifted my hands and clawed the bra straps off her shoulders, then grabbed a cup in each hand and pulled them down, exposing her breasts. As we started moving against each other, I began to kiss and squeeze her breasts, kneading them between my hands as I thrust into her. She was again thrusting forward in time with my strokes, her moans of pleasure stoking my fire. I put my right hand on her back and pulled her forward into a deep kiss, our tongues darting at one another, as she tasted her own juices on my mouth. We broke apart, gasping, only to come together again in another kiss. I wrapped my left arm around her back, pulled her off the counter, and slid my right hand under her ass. Her legs tightened around me as I picked her up, still deep within her, still kissing passionately. I staggered over to the bed and laid her down onto it, her butt on the edge. I leaned back, standing straight up with my knees slightly bent, and resumed my rhythm. I reached down, pulling her legs away from my waist, then bringing them up to either side of me until her heels were right alongside my head. I hugged them to me, feeling the nylon rubbing on my bare torso, kissing her calves and ankles, as I continued to fuck my mother. It wasn't much longer before I was sent to the edge. I was too consumed in my own passion to notice if my mother orgasmed again, but I like to think that she did. Finally, my thrusts began striking her with more force and ragged grunts started to come from my throat. My orgasm built and I buried myself into her deeper and deeper as I climaxed, squeezing her thighs hard against my chest. I stayed inside her, breathing hard, as I came down. Eventually I released her legs and bent down to kiss her once again, and our tongues danced against each other until I softened. We each had an echoing sigh of regret as I finally pulled out of her. I slowly stood, and I don't think she ever looked hotter as she lay on the bed, hair in disarray, makeup smeared, eyes shut, mouth open and panting, breasts pulled out of her bra, legs spread in pantyhose with a torn crotch and heels. I bent down and unfastened the ankle straps on her shoes, pulling off the stilettos and planting a kiss on each foot. After a moment's thought, I peeled her pantyhose down and off, and after several seconds of fumbling, removed her bra – it clasped in the front so I didn't have to disturb her too much. I pulled back the comforter and guided my mother into bed before she completely surrendered to sleep. I felt content and calm as I walked to my room, truly at peace for the first time since my obsession had awakened. I carefully folded her torn pantyhose and placed them in a drawer in my room as a souvenir. Happily exhausted, I laid down and replayed some of the evening's events in my head as I drifted to sleep. I knew life was going to be different between us, but in those moments, I didn't care. No shame, no regrets. Awakening Obsession Ch. 04 The day after I had sex with my mother was, to say the least, a little awkward. I wasn't sure if she'd even really remember what happened. I quickly learned that her memory wasn't all that cloudy. Mom was quiet all morning while Donna was still there, and she avoided looking me in the eye during breakfast. Donna asked if Mom was feeling OK, and Mom just said she was hungover. I of course knew better, but surely couldn't say anything. I was becoming more uncomfortable and awkward myself as time went on. After Donna left, Mom got up from the table and said she wasn't feeling well, and she was going to lay down. I hesitated, unsure what to do. It bothered me so much to see her like that, when it was essentially my fault. Finally, I stood up and caught up to her, grabbing her hand, and asked if we could talk. It took some cajoling and pleading before she finally agreed, and we finally talked around what had happened the prior evening. It took a while. I told Mom how much I loved her, that she was the most wonderful and beautiful woman I'd ever known, and that I would always honor and love her more than anyone else would or could. I told her that we obviously had too much to drink, were very lonely, and desperate for intimacy. I reassured her that I certainly didn't feel any different today about her, unless it was that I felt even closer to her than ever. I could tell that she was finally getting over it, to an extent, and that we'd finally be able to move forward. Of course, she said it was something that could never happen again. Hoping for a smile, I asked if I was that bad. That startled her into a laugh and her face turned red, and she couldn't look me in the eye. We kept talking for a little while, when my mother made a comment about not knowing why I'd go for her in the first place. She said she was old and divorced, practically a retread, so why a young good-looking guy would even be attracted to her when drunk was a surprise to her. I snorted and said she obviously had no idea how hot she was, and it was her turn to scoff. I decided to let her in on what made me tick, and told her my thing with the secretary look and being a leg man. I then told her about how heels and nylons enhance the whole look, and the feeling of nylon on skin was intoxicating to me. I could see a look in her eye when I said that, like I had inadvertently touched on one of her own secrets. She said that she'd always felt that her legs were her best feature, and so tried to accentuate them as much as possible. When I told her that did indeed have great legs, she blushed again and thanked me. I knew that there was more she wasn't telling me, so I started asking her questions, like if she enjoyed the attention, if she liked wearing pantyhose, stuff like that. She finally admitted that she liked the feel of them herself, after I pointed out that I remembered several times when she was wearing jeans with hose, and couldn't have just been trying to draw attention to her legs. She told me it was something that she'd discovered as a young girl, and she wore them since she was a teenager every chance she got. She loved the feel of the tightness across her legs, she said, and loved running her hands over them. I laughed and said that was something else we had in common. We dropped it after that, and life pretty much returned to normal. She still dressed the same to go to work, still kissed me on the cheek as she left. I still complimented her on her looks, maybe even more so than before, and still rubbed her feet for her every other night. What she didn't know was that I wasn't done. I'd thought that if I could just satisfy my desire, my obsession would dim and I'd be able to move on with my life. Instead, with that taste, I found that I wanted her more than ever. What I didn't know was how to bring it about again. She'd made it pretty clear it wouldn't happen again, but I figured with the proper stimulation she would change her mind. She now seemed to be a little more careful about her drinking, probably from knowing that her inhibitions could obviously drop enough to have sex with her son. She hadn't needed a ride (in more ways than one) since our night together, and she hadn't seemed more than slightly tipsy since then either. I couldn't force the issue without being too obvious, so I let it lie for a while, hoping that eventually she'd let her guard down. When opportunity finally did knock, I was ready to kick the door open. Mom had a presentation to do at work, involving her boss and several of their important clients, and she was incredibly nervous about it, spending long hours at night working and tweaking it. We were both looking forward to it being done, and I was happy when presentation day arrived. I got up a little early and made us both breakfast. Mom was surprised and grateful, giving me a big hug, and I took advantage of her distracted state to stare at her while she sat, enjoying her food. She was dressed conservatively, which wasn't typical for her anymore, but it didn't hide the sensuality of her body. Her blouse, a dark, almost navy blue, buttoned all the way to the neck, but tightened beautifully across her bosom with her movements, contouring her gorgeous breasts. Her skirt was knee-length and white, but the slit on the left side exposed another four inches of her thigh to me and displayed a little more of her suntan nylons. She wore dark blue pumps, still with a 3 or 4 inch heel, and as she sat, ankles demurely crossed and tucked under the chair, it was all I could do to resist taking her right then and there. She got up to leave, nervous but confident, and I helped her out the door. When she leaned forward to kiss my cheek, I moved enough to kiss her on the lips instead -- just a quick peck, nothing overt -- and in her state she didn't even bat an eyelash, just asked me to wish her luck. I did, and watched a confident, beautiful woman walk to her car and head out to work. When I got home from work, she wasn't home yet -- which was unusual for midweek. I took that as a sign that things either went really well and she was celebrating, or things went really badly, and she was drowning her troubles. Either way, I thought, this was going to be lucky for me. I made sure that wine was chilling in the fridge and showered, whistling a happy tune, and put on a little of the cologne she bought for me. I didn't dress up, but I tried not to look too sloppy, either. Just another casual night, I thought, but my pulse betrayed my own excitement. I was like my mother from this morning; nervous, anticipating, but overall confident in my ability to pull it off. I didn't have to wait too long. When she walked through the door, I could tell by her radiant smile and slightly shiny eyes that the day had been a success, and she had indeed been celebrating. I asked her how it went, and she was ecstatic as she told me the details: the clients loved her, loved the presentation, asked questions she knew all the answers to, and complimented her on the whole thing. While she talked, I started to open the wine -- to celebrate, I said -- and as I did she then went on to her boss, who loved it as much as the clients did. He told her the reason why he picked her to do the presentation was because he knew that she had the grace, charm, and looks to pull it off. After it was done, he took Mom and the clients out for dinner and drinks. As we drank our wine, she told me what she referred to as "the best part": the boss kept putting his hand on her knee during dinner, and kissed her on the cheek as she left. I knew she'd been chasing him for a long time, and I wanted to feel happy for her now that she seemed to be getting closer, but instead I felt jealous. What's this guy doing fondling my mother? Who is he to caress her knee, brushing his fingers across her legs, trying to kiss those full red lips? I felt that now familiar surge of protectiveness, of ownership. I wasn't going to submit to anyone without a fight. I came back to the conversation and smiled and nodded, sharing the wine with her, refilling her glass every time it reached the halfway point. She was entrancing, her face slightly red from her triumph and the wine, her smile beaming and movements energetic. I felt such a surge of love for her that blended with my lust of her, and at that moment I'd have done anything she could have asked of me. Finally, during a break in the conversation, she remarked that her feet were killing her from standing all day. I relished her blush and laugh as I remarked that those shoes were made for a lot of things, but standing wasn't one of them, and told her to follow me and I'd take care of her. Wine glass in hand, she followed me to the couch. She settled onto the couch, laying back at an angle so her head rested on the armrest but her feet dangled over the edge, her normal position when I gave her a footrub. I put on some relaxing music and she closed her eyes as I knelt at her feet, slipping her shoes off. I began to work on them, enjoying as always the little moans of pleasure she emitted from time to time. I worked hard at doing a good job, and she was perfectly relaxed and enjoying herself. Now it was my turn. While I continued working her right foot with one hand, I gripped her ankle with the other and slid it slowly and firmly up her calf, kneading the muscles, stopping at the back of her knee to lightly brush it with my fingertips, and slowly and softly stroking her leg on the way back down to her ankle. She moaned, louder than before, and told me how nice that felt. I used the motion to pull her legs slightly apart, but the conservative skirt prevented me from going too far. I gave her a couple of minutes of it before switching to her left foot, which was the side closer to the couch back. I gave it a little pull, and Mom obliged by sliding her ass a little closer to the edge of the couch, giving me more access to her leg. She placed her right foot down where it rested on my left thigh, just inches from the rock-hard bulge I had. As I was starting to work her left foot, sliding my hands across her nyloned foot and leg, an idea occurred to me. I brought my face closer to her foot. I wasn't sure what I expected, but I could smell her sweat mingled with the smell of her nylons, and it reminded me of the night I buried my head between her legs. I'd never been a person into feet, but I couldn't get the idea out of my mind. As I stroked my fingers back down her calf with my left hand and worked her toes with my right, I slowly ran my tongue up the arch of my mother's foot. I heard her inhale sharply, like a diver coming out of water, and I continued up her foot until I reached her big toe and slid it into my mouth, running my right hand up her left leg and bringing my left hand over to her right leg, still resting on my thigh, and stroked her legs while I sucked on her toes. When I opened my eyes and looked up at her, still working on her with my mouth, I could see her staring at me, lips apart, breathing heavy. I continued, watching her as she watched me, now bringing my hands up to stroke her thighs under the skirt. Emboldened, I brought my left hand to her right ankle and slid her foot until it reached my crotch, resting it on the bulge there. Tentatively, then with increasing pressure, she stroked my hardness with her foot as I continued sucking and licking her foot. I began to run my tongue up the top of her foot to her shin, then started around to the back of her calf. I grasped her foot and raised it in the air, giving me access to the back of her knee, which I then began to softly kiss and lick in turn. My other hand was rubbing her inner thigh, coming tantalizingly close to the wetness I could already see forming. Her skirt was still getting in the way, so I rested her leg on my shoulder and used both hands to slide the back of her skirt up to her waist. Her hands briefly and vainly pulled at the hem in the front, trying to cover herself, but I wrapped my left arm under and around her right thigh and kept a secure hold on the skirt. I pushed her left leg up so that her foot was resting on the back of the couch, and with my mother's legs spread wide, I buried my head between them for the second time. I was again driven wild by her scent, masked slightly by the nylon, and tore open the crotch of her pantyhose with my teeth and right hand. I immediately began to assault her sex with my tongue, long broad strokes, while my hands and fingers wandered over her thighs. I began to slow down the rhythm, in counterpoint to my fervent beginning, and to savor the sounds of pleasure she was making. I took my time, building up her response, keying on her breathing and subtle movements, all the while feeling the slightest twitches in her legs as I stroked them. In contrast to the first time I ate out my mother, which was fast and furious, I settled down and coaxed her along a path of pleasure. I toyed with her for some time, speeding up a little, listening to breath come harder and faster, then slowing down again, reveling in her slight sound of disappointment, knowing I would build her up again. Finally, I decided to end it. Starting off slowly once again, I gradually built up the rhythm, adding a little more pressure with each stroke. Her breathing kept pace with me, and as it quickened, I would quicken my own pace. Soon enough, my face was firmly planted against her, tongue working furiously, arms wrapped tightly around her thighs, and she was chanting "yes yes yes" as she began to reach the crest. When she finally went over, with a cry that sounded almost painful, I backed off the pressure, gliding my fingertips across her thighs and gently kissing along them. I slowly pulled back and stood, one knee on the couch, and looked down at my mother. Her head was tilted to the left, her right arm curled next to it, fingers near her parted lips. Her left hand rested on the top of the thigh of her left leg, which was still resting across the top of couch from the knee down. The sight of her lying there - hair sweaty and disheveled, in her high-necked long sleeve blouse, conservative skirt raked up, exposed legs spread invitingly, pantyhose torn away from her crotch -- increased the insistent need within me. I slid my shorts down to my knees and leaned forward, putting an arm down on either side of her torso. She opened her eyes and turned to look at me, breath still rasping in and out of her mouth. With a sigh, she placed her right hand on my shoulder and grasped my firmness in her left hand. As she guided me inside her, my mother pulled my head down, ear to her mouth, and whispered, "Fuck me." As I began to move inside her, I pulled my head back enough to see her face, and her eyes locked on mine as we rocked into each other on the couch. Gone was the frenzy of the first time. We continued the sex like it had begun, slow and measured, reveling in the pace and sensation and sounds. Our lips and tongues would meet for long moments, breaking apart as we both needed the breath. The steady rhythm began to work on her, and her breathing grew more rapid, the clench on the back of my neck tighter, her thighs squeezing harder, and she came again with a wordless moan. Watching her face during the orgasm, head thrown back, mouth open wide, consumed by pleasure, was too much for me. With my own cry I peaked, thrusting deep inside her, back arching, whole body tense. As I came down, I opened my eyes and looked down at her, to see her gazing up at me. "This has to stop," she said. "I'm your mother, and...." I cut her off by pressing my lips down on hers. She resisted for a moment, but gave in to the kiss, and our tongues intertwined as I lay atop her, still deep inside and gradually softening. I began to realize how submissive she was, something I should have realized from seeing her previous encounter with Donna, as well as our own first night together. The balance of power and authority had shifted, and I thought that I might now be able to have her again, and that she would want it enough to give in without a fight, even without her being drunk. What I wanted ultimately, though, was to have her come after me of her own accord, for her to want me enough to initiate the intimacy. I slowly pulled out of her, still kissing, and I could hear and feel a slight sigh of disappointment escape her lips. I rose to my feet, extending my hands down to her, and helped her stand. I guided her by the hand to her room and she docilely followed, allowing me to assist undressing her. I gently caressed her as she shed her clothes, standing behind her, kissing her neck and running my hands along her arms. In moments her clothes were in a pile on the floor and I helped her into bed, the long stressful day and climactic evening catching up to her. After a moment, looking down at her, I shed my own clothes and climbed in beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist as she lay on her side. Her hand slid over mine, and we fell asleep. When I woke up, I heard the shower running. My clothes were folded and lying on the foot of the bed, while hers were nowhere to be found. No souvenir this time, I thought, disappointed. I dressed and made breakfast for us, not sure how she'd be acting after last night and how she was after the first time. I was surprised when she came out -- she seemed perfectly normal, chatting about work, asking me to take care of some housework chores before I went to work. It was a normal mother-son morning, all the way until she went back to her room before leaving for work. She had something in her hand, which she held out to me as she bent forward to kiss me goodbye, lightly, on the lips. "For your collection," she said, that smirk on her face that I loved so much. I held the torn pantyhose in my hand as I watched her walk out the door. ** A couple of weeks went by without any extra-curricular activities, and I was growing frustrated. After she gave me her torn nylons, I thought she'd decided that our intimacy was a welcome thing to her. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the case. At home, she was much more "in charge", giving me chores, telling me to pick up dry-cleaning and groceries or whatever. I didn't mind doing any of them, of course -- I loved her, and wanted to do whatever I could to make her life easier -- but she'd never really acted like that before; normally, she'd ask me to do something rather than tell me to. Any contact I initiated, slipping an arm around her waist, a hug, anything, would be gently but quickly broken. I wasn't even getting a kiss on the cheek anymore. Finally, she let slip that she was going out with her boss on a dinner date after work on Friday, and for me not to worry if she wasn't home. That clicked everything into place for me. After her presentation, her boss must have begun to respond very favorably to her, and she decided that she needed to act more like a mother is expected to be. Now that she had a date arranged, she'd become even more distant. I could either let it go, or I could see if her submissive side was still lurking close beneath the surface. I got up early on Friday and slipped into her room as she was showering. I slowly and quietly opened the bathroom door. On her vanity, as was her normal routine, she had laid her clothes out to put on after the shower. Short black pinstriped skirt, cream-colored blouse, black stockings and pumps, and the corset I'd seen in her closet some time ago. No panties, either -- her intentions for the evening were pretty clear. I started to get hard just thinking about it. I softly shut the door as I heard the shower turn off. The sound of her heels clicking across the floor started to drive me crazy before she even came into view. I whistled when I finally saw her and she smiled at me. The skirt was short, all right, and the five or so pounds she'd lost in the last couple of weeks definitely looked good on her. She sat at the table, legs crossed, eating a grapefruit, and I could see the tops of her stockings just creeping into view. I ravished her with my eyes, the low-cut blouse, short skirt, long legs -- I felt like I was coming down with a fever. I jumped a little when the phone rang behind me. Awakening Obsession Ch. 04 I turned and reached over the counter to answer it, and recognized her boss on the other end of the phone. I told him to hold on and gestured towards Mom with the phone, mouthing the word "work". She got up and clicked past me to answer. Listening to her put on a low sexy voice as she talked started turning me on even more. A minute or so in, she started talking in a business-like tone as she explained some procedure the boss didn't know how to do. As she became engrossed in the explanation, she leaned over the counter, resting on her elbows. Her skirt lifted up in the back, exposing her stockings all the way to the garters. This time, I didn't turn away. Instead, I stepped forward, sliding my hands around the sides of her thighs. Her voice hitched in mid-sentence, and she turned with wide eyes towards me and mouthed the word "stop". I didn't move as she turned back and continued talking, instead sliding my hands straight up her hips and pushing her skirt over her ass. Her bare cheeks, framed by the garters, came into view. She started to straighten, but I put a hand on her back, gently, and as I'd hoped, my submissive mother remained as she was. Her voice was getting faster as she talked, her breath speeding up. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone quickly to cover a gasp as I slid two fingers from my other hand into her already wet sex. Her answers became shorter and shorter, turning from sentences into "mmm-hmms", gasped yeses, and moaned denials. A couple of times I heard her say, "No, I'm fine", as I continued to work on her with my hand. Finally, I stepped forward, removing my fingers and replacing them with something longer and harder. Again, she just managed to cover the phone in time to block her gasp. She turned to me again, panting, and said, "Please, wait...until...hang up...." I complied, standing still, buried to the hilt inside of her. She continued her conversation, a little more controlled, her hips and ass making little movements, slowly grinding into me as I stood firm. I could tell she was trying to wrap up the conversation, and her movements started to get a little faster, a little more urgent. Finally, I heard her say goodbye, and before the phone could even leave her ear I slid back and then deeply forward. Her hand swung toward the cradle, and before the phone could drop in she let out a long loud moan. I briefly wondered if her boss heard it on the other end of the phone, but it soon left my mind as I continued to pound my mother roughly from behind. Her height and heels made the angle perfect for me, and she was bucking back into me with the same fervor I was displaying. Leaving my left hand on her back I slid my right hand around the front of her hip and into the cleft between her legs, and started to rub her clitoris in time with my strokes. Her moaning intensified, and she brought her left leg up until her knee was resting on the counter, giving me increased access. I continued the frantic pace, and soon she was gasping and moaning her way through an orgasm. I slowed as she came, and as she gasped to catch her breath in the aftermath, forehead resting on the counter, I brought my hands up under her torso, lifting her up. She had to keep her back arched to keep me inside her, and she twined her left arm behind my head, elbow in the air, as I began to increase my pace once again. My hands were kneading her breasts through the silky blouse as I slid in and out of her. I came shortly after, pulsing deep inside her, and we stayed in that position for several seconds, catching our breath. When I'd stepped back from her, leaning on the counter behind me, she turned, still panting, and said, "You are a naughty boy." She had a slight smile on her face as she said it, standing in front of me, skirt still at her waist, beads of moisture glittering in the patch of hair it exposed. "You should have worn panties," I answered, smiling back at her. She laughed at that and responded, "I was planning on something happening tonight, one way or the other. I didn't quite expect...." She trailed off, looking down at her disheveled state. I stepped forward, putting my hands on her hips, and kissed her lightly. "I can't help myself," I said, "I see you and I lose control. I think you are the hottest, sexiest woman I've ever seen, and I just can't keep my hands off you." She smiled at my compliment and answered, "I know. I see how you look at me, I know what drives you crazy, and I -- I flaunt it, I love being looked at, I feel young and pretty, desirable, but you're my son for God's sake, I shouldn't let that happen, I shouldn't want it to happen, I shouldn't want my son to look at me and want me, I should want my son to f-f...." Again she trailed off, head down, holding my wrists. I pushed her hair back, cupping her ear, and leaned her head up to me. "I didn't expect it either," I said, looking her in the eye. "It just, out of nowhere, became this need, a desire, and I forced you into it, did whatever it took to get you. I never meant this to happen, but God knows I wanted it to happen. I loved you and wanted you so much I would do anything to have you." Again she smiled at me. "I know. Ever since that night you picked me up, things... changed. I knew something had happened the next morning, and you, uh, missed a spot or two. The thought of you, watching me, doing that.... I was surprised at how... excited the idea made me. And when you touched me, that night, for the first time, the way I wanted you to, it was... amazing. Having someone who responds to the same things you do, it just...." I was nodding as she spoke, knowing what she meant. Sharing turn-ons was like having a masturbation fantasy spring to life. We talked a little longer, gradually realizing that the shame and hesitation in us both was disappearing. Finally, she looked at me and smirked. "OK, lover," she said, kissing me on the lips. "I need to shower again and go to work. I'll be going out tonight, but you might want to wait up for me." She turned and walked slowly away, heels clicking, skirt still hiked up, hips and ass swaying alluringly. As she turned the corner, she gave me a sideways glance, another smirk, and a wink. "Oh, Mom," I thought, as I began to stiffen again. Awakening Obsession Ch. 05 Mom was out on her date with her boss, but with her advice – that I might want to wait up for her – still ringing in my ears all day, I tried to do just that. I showered after work, primped, put on only my bathrobe, and waited. The wait was difficult. It was hard to imagine what they might be doing, eating dinner, drinking, laughing, flirting, whatever, without becoming consumed by jealousy. That feeling, though, only contributed to my immense horniness. The thought of my mother, on her knees, servicing another man, or on all fours, being taken from behind, made me stiffer and stiffer, and longing for her to come home. Every minute felt like an hour. I tried desperately to do anything, watch TV, listen to music, anything to keep occupied, but it only became tougher. Thankfully, at some point a long week of work combined with a late night – it was well past midnight – contributed to me falling asleep on the couch. I wasn't sure of the time when I woke up, but I immediately knew what had awakened me. My mother was sitting on the edge of the couch, deliciously round ass pressing against my right hip. The devilish gleam in her eye and smirk on her lips told me she was having a good time. Her long gorgeous legs were crossed, and one black leather pump had slipped off her heel and swayed slightly as she moved her foot from side to side. I looked her up and down a couple of times, from the cleavage exposed by her half-unbuttoned shirt to the tips of her pointy toes. Mouth suddenly dry, I was able to croak out, "How did it go?" Her smirk had deepened as she watched me check her out. "We had fun," she said, swinging her foot a little faster. She laughed at the look on my face, a throaty chuckle that contributed to her devilish air. She elaborated, talking about the restaurant they went to, what they had talked about, the normal stuff. My interest roused, though, when she again voiced that throaty laugh. "The best part of dinner," she said, still laughing, "was when he dropped his napkin for the second time in 5 minutes and had to go under the table for it. I knew why, since you've done it so much. He was checking out my legs and hoping for a look up my skirt." As she laughed again I felt my face grow warm, not with embarrassment, but that feeling of jealousy slowly returning and with it, the slow stiffening of my member. I'm sure Mom noticed my facial reaction, but she kept talking. "Just to see what he'd do, I uncrossed my legs as he bent down and left my knees apart, just enough. He was red enough when he came up for air, and he forgot his napkin!" At that, she laughed again. The surge of blood to both parts of my body quickened. "I think that may have been why he was in such a hurry to leave and go to his place." The jealous/horny feeling spiked at that. She leaned back, resting her right arm on the other side of my body. As she did, she glanced down at my lap, and the robe must have done little to hide what was happening there. The smirk returned as she looked back up at me. "We scurried out of there, his hand on my ass the whole time. He walked me to my car, made sure I knew how to get to his house, and before I got in he kissed me. Hard. In a second I was pressed against the side of the car. As we kissed, his hands slid under my skirt, and he was able to verify what he'd already seen – I wasn't wearing panties. I think he would have tried to take me right there if someone else hadn't hit their auto locks right next to us." By this time, my robe had given way, and my hardness was fully exposed, lying against my stomach. Part of me knew she was doing this deliberately, teasing me, but I'd responded, and my arousal was total. I could see my mother, kissing this man, his hands groping and squeezing the taut pale flesh of her buttocks, her letting him and loving it. She dropped her eyes from mine and was looking down at the open front of my robe. Slowly, she moved her left hand across and opened my robe even further, and my scrotum tightened and cock jumped as her hand came close. Her smile deepened as she dragged her long fingernails across my exposed thighs. "He poured us some drinks," she continued, eyes still down as she toyed with me. We talked for a little while, but it wasn't long 'til we were kissing again. He couldn't keep his hands off my legs, which made me hotter and hotter. We occasionally broke off for some more drinks, but I think we just made out for the most part. My skirt was way up by now, as I'm sure you can imagine," and with that, she slowly drew a fingernail up the shaft of my penis, and I moaned softly. She continued the contact, light and slow, as she went on. "When we weren't kissing, he couldn't keep his eyes off my legs. Another leg man in my life, lucky for me." I gasped as she slowly slid her hand around my shaft and squeezed it gently. She continued talking as her hand began a slow stroke. I was in another world, but still glued to the words she spoke. "Finally, he got down on his knees in front of me. He slid his hands up my calves to my knees, which he gently spread apart. He kissed his way up my thighs, getting closer and closer. God, I was so hot, I wanted his tongue on me, I wanted to be licked, I was ready." Her hand was slowly picking up speed, and my breath was coming fast and harsh. Abruptly, she stopped, let go of me and stood up. She laughed at my expression. "That's exactly what he looked like when I stood up, too. I told him I didn't go that far on a first date. I think he was mad, at first, but I stayed and kept talking to him, kept kissing him. I just wasn't going to go any further, no matter how much I wanted to." She started walking towards the head of the couch, practically strutting in her high heels, until she stood over my upturned face. She reached down, got a gentle fistful of hair, and pulled. I pushed myself with my feet until my neck was resting on the armrest and my head hung in the air, held up by the fingers curled in my hair. With her other hand, she pulled her tight skirt up, and I was looking at her exposed sex and neatly trimmed hair, framed by the straps of her garters. "Now," she said, "my good boy is going to take care of his mother, and give her what she needs. Isn't that right?" I could only nod, swept up by my normally submissive mother's dominant behavior. She let go of my hair long enough to straddle my eager mouth, reaching behind her to entangle her fingers in it again, pulling my face further between her legs. I could barely breathe, but I didn't care, as my tongue and lips worked feverishly on her. She was grinding into my face just as furiously, rubbing herself against my chin. I thought I was going to pass out when I heard her begin to cry out. Her fingers tightened in my hair and I was pulled even harder into her. We were both gasping for air when she let go and stepped away. Despite the lack of air, I wanted to be inside her so desperately that I swung my arm up to grab at her as she stepped away. My fingers only brushed the smooth nylon of one stocking as she took a few steps and I groaned involuntarily in dismay. She stopped and turned around, skirt still around her waist, chest heaving, and put her hands on her hips. "Nope, lover. Do it yourself. I told you to wait up for me." She stood, legs spread wide, and watched as I wasted no time in complying. In no time at all I was climaxing, staring at her body as I peaked. She waited until I was recovering before turning around, tossing a goodnight over her shoulder, and sauntered into her bedroom. I stared at the closed door for a good while, and decided that I enjoyed being submissive to her just as much as I enjoyed making her mine. * My face was buried between my mother's legs as she leaned against the front door. She was daintily holding her skirt up for me, and her pantyhose were rolled down to her knees. My hands were gripping the backs of her knees as I ravaged her with my tongue. She began to buck her hips, grinding into me, as she began to climax. I dutifully backed off the pressure, kissing her inner thighs as she rode her orgasm down. I pushed myself back a little, but stayed on my knees, looking up at her while she recovered. In the week since her date, Mom hadn't let go of the reins of control. Every day was joyous torture for me, as she became more and more of a tease, but wouldn't let me have her. She had become very casual about how she dressed in front of me, and it wasn't uncommon for her to leave her robe unfastened most of the time. During the week at breakfast, she'd have her legs spread under the table, drop something on the floor, and ask me to get it for her. She took great delight in keeping me aroused around her, and it really seemed to keep her confidence high – I'd never seen her so relaxed and self-assured in my life. Sometimes she'd let me eat her out just before she left for work, like today, and I was all too eager to heed the request. I wanted her so bad, every minute of every day, and she wouldn't let me do anything else. The closest I got was midweek, when she got home from work. She went into the bedroom to change from her work clothes, and came out wearing only her hose and heels. I couldn't keep my eyes off her as she nonchalantly moved around the kitchen, preparing for dinner. Finally, I broke, as she bending at the waist looking in the fridge. I pressed against her, my hardness pressing between her ass cheeks. As she straightened, I slid my hands over her bare chest and began to kiss the nape of her neck. She let me continue for a few seconds, rubbing her ass into my crotch, before saying "No" in her voice that meant no argument. I backed up, panting and feverish, and she walked away from the fridge to lean against the counter opposite me, legs apart. She slid her hand over her right breast, down her stomach, and under the waistband of her nylons. I freed myself from the constraints of my pants and stroked myself in front of her while she worked her hand. Watching each other get off seemed to heighten our pleasure, judging from how loudly and quickly it was over. She stayed dressed that way the whole night, and it was enough to nearly drive me insane with desire. It was Friday again, and I was still on my knees as she pulled her nylons back in place. As she did, she told me, "I want you home and ready when I get back. I'll be going out for a few drinks after work. You won't be disappointed." With that, she smoothed her skirt, bent down, and kissed me on the mouth, tasting herself on my tongue. With a wink and a smirk, she walked out the door. It should go without saying that I did exactly as I was told. I was cleaned, dressed, and ready as I'd been the prior week, but this time I wasn't going to fall asleep regardless of the time Mom got home. To burn off nervous energy, I cleaned most of the house, did the laundry, even mopped the kitchen. I caught myself looking out the window overlooking the parking lot two or three times an hour. By the time I'd folded the last bit of laundry, I heard the key rattle in the door. My heart sped up and I felt my body flush with impending excitement. Imagine my confusion when I heard a voice from the door say, "A little help here?" It took me a second to recognize Donna's voice, since it was the last thing I'd expected. Walking around to the front door, I saw her struggling to handle my taller mother, who had her arm thrown over Donna's shoulder and seemed barely able to keep herself upright. I hurried over to take the other side, while Mom was giggling drunkenly. As we supported her to the living room, Donna was talking about never seeing my mother this tanked before, to the point where she couldn't even walk. Donna started to direct her towards the bedroom, but Mom got her feet under her enough to go over to the easy chair near the couch instead. She sprawled down into it, arms and legs spread wide. I looked at Donna, who was still looking at Mom, and thought by the look on her face that Donna had planned to get some action before Mom passed out, and now she was left in the cold. I began to suspect that Mom's drunkenness wasn't everything it seemed to be. I asked Donna if she'd like a glass of wine, and she jumped a little, like she'd forgotten I was there. I watched her eyes look me up and down in my robe, and she smiled suddenly, a hungry, almost predatory smile, and said that she'd love some. Minutes later, we were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, sipping wine. Donna had her shoes off and legs curled onto the sofa, facing me. My eyes kept dropping to the short skirt she was wearing which exposed almost all of her tanned, athletic legs. I could tell by the shimmer on the legs that she was wearing nylons, which she didn't really need to, but she probably was wearing them for Mom's benefit. The thought of this incredibly hot woman wanting to get up my mother's skirt was making it hard for me to keep my robe shut. I'm sure she noticed the attention I was paying to her legs, because in no time she was running a hand "casually" along one curled leg. She didn't seem to be thinking about my mother any more, who was out of her line of sight over her left shoulder and was breathing deep and regular, like a sleeper. I brought my own legs up onto the couch, extending and crossing them at the ankles, directly facing Donna and still able to see Mom sprawled in her chair. Shortly after, Donna shifted herself until her back was against the armrest, legs bent at the knee, with her feet on either side of my legs. I now had a completely unobstructed view up her skirt, and even though we were still talking, I had no idea what I was saying or hearing. A minute later, Donna was running one nylon-covered foot along my leg, first up to my knee, then getting a little higher with each pass. She turned her foot slightly, dipping her toes between my thighs, gently forcing them apart, which I certainly didn't resist. She used her foot to push my robe open as well, and she smiled at the erection she was causing. My breathing began to quicken as she started gliding her foot over it, pushing into my hardness, and I involuntarily glanced over at my mother. I wasn't sure, but I thought I could see a glimmer of light in her eyes. My attention was quickly taken elsewhere, though, as the foot left my groin and I could feel a pair of thighs moving up my legs. In a second, Donna was straddling me, rubbing her pantyhose-covered pussy against my erection and slipping her tongue in my mouth. I was gripping her tight ass and grinding back against her. She broke off the kiss and panted at me, "Your mom was right – you are into nylon." I was startled, thinking that Mom had said something about our antics. She must have misunderstood the look, because she continued, "I figured you were, after our little dance together, but I asked her about it later. Innocently, of course. I'd never try to take advantage of her hot little boy." She kissed me again, still grinding away. A few seconds later, she straightened her back and shifted her weight to her right leg. Bringing the other leg forward, she peeled down her hose, slipping her left leg out. She slid her wetness along my erection, twice, a third time, finally pushing herself down and taking me in her. She rocked gently back and forth as she pulled her shirt over her head and unsnapped her bra. I leaned forward and took one breast in my mouth, running my hands along her back. In turn, she wrapped one hand around the back of my head and gripped my shoulder with the other for support. I let her ride me, giving her control over the motion and speed, only pushing back into her slightly in rhythm. Soon enough, her rapid breathing and softly uttered curses told me that she'd climaxed. I leaned back down against the couch, with a gut feeling telling me she wasn't done. Sure enough, she placed her hands on my chest and began moving again, slowly at first, with a slight circular twist to her pelvic movements. Her eyes were closed, concentrating on her pleasure, using me as a means to her explosive end. I certainly didn't mind being used. I was content to watch her petite tanned body working on mine, taking surprising pleasure in watching her achieve her own. A small flicker of movement to my right caught my eye. I could see my mother still, and my earlier suspicion proved true. She was watching us, one hand under her nylons rubbing slowly between her spread legs. As I listened to Donna moaning her way to another climax, I watched my mother get herself off to the sight of her son and best friend fucking on the couch in front of her. When Mom bit her lip to keep from crying out, I almost went over the edge myself, but I summoned every ounce of self-control I had to stay in the game. Knowing I had an audience, I suddenly felt the need to provide my viewer with the best possible experience while simultaneously making sure my partner got everything she needed and more. When Donna came for the second time, she didn't seem to remember that she needed to be quiet. Her moans were much louder the second time around, and the occasional "fuck yes" and "oh God" were clearly audible. She stretched back when she finished, lifting her hair from the back of her neck with both hands, breathing hard and smiling down at me. I sat forward, gently pulling her left foot forward so her leg was straight, followed by the right. I then pulled my legs up, lifted my back, wrapped my arms around Donna, and got up on my knees, still buried deep inside her. I leaned forward, gently laying her back on the couch. Hooking my elbows behind her knees, pulling her legs back, I began a slow deep rhythm, pulling nearly out of her before slowly pushing all the way back in. Keeping it slow helped me keep control, and I could hear Donna responding beneath me. I lifted my head and locked eyes with my mother, now only six feet in front of me. She looked enraptured, glistening with sweat, lips apart, still rubbing herself. I stared at her while I continued my long slow pumping, gradually picking up speed. All three of us were in perfect time, Mom speeding up as I did, Donna giving voice once again to her orgasm. It was lucky for Mom that Donna was as loud as she was, because my mother's gasps would have been audible otherwise. I was pushed over the edge, thrusting deep and hard into Donna, until I finally collapsed onto her, our sweaty bodies intertwined and gasping for air. We rested for a couple of minutes, getting our wind back. I reluctantly pushed off of her, pulling her up with me into a kiss. Donna was quickly putting her bra on, and glanced back to where my mother was still sprawled in the chair. The quick glance made her think Mom hadn't moved, but I knew from the slightly hiked skirt, open blouse, and sheen of sweat that she had. I looked back at Donna while she pulled her shirt back on, then stood and finished taking off her hose. She asked me if I needed help putting Mom to bed; smiling inwardly, I told her she'd be fine to sleep it off on the chair. Donna kissed me again, hard. "I'll see you later," she said, putting force and meaning into those words. I walked her to the door, and we kissed again before she walked out. Sliding her hand down to cup me, she broke the kiss and said, "God, I needed that." With that, she turned and padded off to her car in her bare feet, shoes and hose in her hands. I shut the door, feeling good. When I looked over at the living room, the chair was empty and Mom's door was shut. I couldn't help but be disappointed, spent though I was, and went to lie down in my own bed. I slid naked between the sheets, and it didn't take long before I started to drowse off. I awoke no more than a minute later, from the movement of the sheet and blanket being pulled off my body. I looked down to see my mother kneeling next to the bed, bending over my lap. I gasped as she took me into her wet mouth, her tongue working over my head. I began to stiffen again as she eagerly fellated me, working her hand at the base of the shaft, tasting the juices of her best friend on her son's member. She began talking, interrupting herself to take me back into her mouth often, and working with her hand while she spoke. Awakening Obsession Ch. 05 "You shouldn't tease your mother like that," she gasped. I was immediately struck by the irony of the statement, after how she'd been all week, and then set up the whole encounter with Donna, but I was more than happy to let her continue uninterrupted. "I wanted you both so bad," she continued, then returned to my erection. Watching my mother's lips slide down my fully erect member was amazing, an image I hoped I would never forget. "Would you like that, fucking me while I licked her?" Her hand was pistoning up and down my wet shaft. She stood, swinging one leg over my hips, and I slid into her easily. She was naked under her short sheer robe, and as she frantically rode me I took a nipple in my mouth, marveling at the suppleness and size of her breasts, so much larger than Donna's. I gently nibbled her while I guided her pounding with my hands on her ass. She was soon screaming out her passion, pushing into me with an almost painful force, making an audible slap on each downthrust. She finally began to slow, gasping for air, and I immediately took over, pulling my pelvis back and pulling her into me as I thrust into her. She started her loud moaning almost at once, as her recovery from one orgasm went quickly into the beginnings of another, louder one. In the midst of her pleasure I found my own again, and soon she was lying on top of me as we panted, as Donna and I had done not long before. Our lips occasionally came together as we lay, me slowly softening inside her. Finally, she shifted her weight off of me, sliding to one side, while I scooted over a bit to make room. She curled next to me, pressing her back into my chest as I put my arm around her waist. She turned her head over her shoulder and I leaned over and kissed her softly, and we fell asleep, my mother in my arms.