0 comments/ 222884 views/ 77 favorites Dad's Private Collection By: epiphany65 My dad's hobby was woodworking. For most of his adult life he was a school teacher at Inglewood Middle School. When he was forty he was promoted to Principal. Dad seemed happy with the new job, but said it was stressful. I guess that's why he took up the hobby of woodworking. Attached to our two-car garage was a room about fifteen feet wide and as long as the garage. It was a perfect place for my father to pursue his hobby. A counter about twelve feet long ran along the wall to the right when you walked in. Above that was a shelf. Dad had bolted a small belt sander and a vice to the wooden counter. Fluorescent lights hung above it. He also had a table saw a few feet in front of the door. Pine boards and plywood leaned against the wall in front of the table saw. Every weekend and some evenings my father would go out to his wood shop There, he turned those pieces of ordinary wood into cute bird houses and bird feeders, or sometimes a bookcase or a table. These he would often give away to family and friends as gifts. Once, for Mom's birthday, he made her a jewellery box out of mahogany. Dad loved his hobby. Sometimes I think he enjoyed the process more than the finished product itself. It was his way of relieving stress. It seemed to help, but not enough. When I was nineteen my father suffered a massive coronary in October. He died before the ambulance arrived at the hospital with him. As you can imagine, my mother and I were devastated by the loss of my father. He was a great person. A loving father and, according to Mom, near perfect husband. And only forty-five. His death left my mother and me to somehow muddle along. There we were: an orphan at nineteen and a widow at forty-three. Dad had a good life insurance policy, so we had no financial worries. But all the money in the world would be no substitute for him. In August, the summer after my father died, Mom decided that it was time to clean out his wood shop "Richard, sometime, when you get a chance, maybe you should tidy the place up," she said. "I was thinking we could sell some of his tools. We don't need the table saw or sander. I think there are a few birdhouses in there that he finished before..." Her voiced began to fade and tears pooled in her blue eyes. I felt a lump in my throat as I looked over at my mother. She was on the couch in the living room, adjacent to the chair I was in. We had been watching television when she made her suggestion during a commercial. She reached up to wipe her eyes, then ran a hand through her black hair. "Yeah, I can do it this weekend," I told her. It was a Friday night and I had no plans for the next two days. Mom's mouth was a tight slit now, lips quivering. A tear ran down her cheek. I had also done my share of crying over my father's death, but always behind my closed bedroom door. Dad had raised me to believe that boys don't cry. We had to be strong. Stoic. But I like to think that if it were me lying in the ground rather than him, he too would cry. I bit the side of my lower lip and walked over to Mom. She was sniffling and wiping her bloodshot eyes. She looked up, seeming embarrassed by her weeping. Her sorrow was obvious on her face. I sat down beside her and rested a hand on her left shoulder. Her raven hair brushed over the back of my hand and I was surprised by how soft it felt. It tickled my skin. Mom turned her head towards me. She tried to smile, but couldn't. Instead, she crumpled against me and began sobbing into my chest. I put my arms around her and she clutched me like a drowning man holding onto a life preserver. She quaked against me, wetting my t-shirt with her tears. After a few minutes Mom straightened her back and brushed away strands of hair that were clinging to her wet cheek. Her eyes met mine, blue and shiny with tears. She kissed my cheek, then rubbed it, wiping away her lipstick. A faint laugh escaped her mouth. "I'd be so lost without you, Richard," she said in a shaky voice. "You're all I've got now." I nodded, knowing how she felt, or at least as best I could. Losing your husband was not the same as losing your father. The pain is different, although just as real for each person. "You're all I've got too, Mom," I said. I ran my hand up and down her back, trying to comfort her. Mom heaved and sighed in ragged breaths. She wiped her teary eyes once more, then raised them to meet mine. Her expression had changed now. In her eyes I could see her love for me. I smiled and kissed her rosy cheek, hoping she'd realize how much I loved her too. Her skin felt warm and damp with tears against my lips. Mom rested against my chest once more, sliding her arms around my waist. I could feel her hand running up and down my spine. That's when it all changed for me. While holding my mother on the couch a flood of sensations rushed through me. I could smell the scents of her perfume and shampoo. Her silky hair was teasing the side of my face and neck. Her hand was still moving over my back and it was very soothing. I let myself relax as my right hand slid up her back, over the strap of her bra beneath her blouse and towards her shoulders. She moved, holding me tighter. It was then that I was very aware of how her breasts were pressed to me. They felt firm and large as they rubbed over my chest. I had noticed them before, perhaps in an inappropriate way, but only by sight. This was the first time that I was aware, very aware, of how nice they felt pressed to me. Her bra had pushed them into two round orbs, accentuating their size. I glanced down. The top three buttons of my mother's rose-coloured blouse were undone and in the V-shaped opening I could see her deep cleavage. Her firm mounds rose and fell with her laboured breathing. Her skin was as smooth as polished marble and slightly tanned from the sun. A few small freckles dotted it. A mixture of guilt and shame nearly overwhelmed me, but those were quickly replaced by lust and arousal. I could feel my cock harden inside my jeans as I grew more turned-on. Seconds later it was pushing up at the zipper. I twisted, hoping to hide my shameful condition. "I just miss him so much," Mom sighed. "I knew I'd never get over losing Henry, but I had hoped that it would be easier by now. Some days it feels like yesterday though." "I know. I feel the same," I told her. Mom straightened her back and leaned away from me a little. Her left hand slid around to hold my right one. I gave her hand a soft squeeze. Beneath her soft skin I could feel the slender bones with my thumb. They felt so delicate and reminded me of how frail we really are. She gave my hand a squeeze and I looked down at her wedding and engagement rings on her finger. She hadn't stopped wearing them since Dad died. I wondered if she might and somehow found it comforting that she hadn't. Perhaps she did too. Maybe it was her way of trying to fool herself into believing he wasn't really gone. Her blue eyes moved down my chest and she wiped tears from them again with the heel of her hand. When I noticed her gaze linger on the bulge in my jeans I felt panicky. My pulse quickened and sweat formed on my palms. I think I noticed a faint smile appear on her face, just for a moment, then it was gone. She looked back up at me. "I'll clean the wood shop out tomorrow," I said. I was desperate for something to say to interrupt the silence. "That will be fine. There's no rush," she said. "I was just thinking it should be done sometime. There's no need to hang on to all that stuff. But if there's anything at all that you want, keep it." "Okay. I'll see what there is. Some of the tools might come in handy," I told her. My mother nodded in agreement, but never spoke. She seemed thoughtful. That was understandable, but in the back of my mind I worried that she had noticed my erection trying to burst from my jeans. When my eyes left hers and moved down to the front of her blouse I saw the noticeable bumps that her hard nipples made. They stood out from the swell of her breasts, making two nearly fingertip-sized protrusions in the material. Without even realizing it at first, I licked my lips, fighting the urge to pinch one of her hard nubs between my fingers. "I'm going to make some hot chocolate before bed. Want some?" Mom had gotten up from the couch and was standing in front of me. I looked up, past her hard nipples to her face. Her cheeks were still pink, but now I wondered if it was from crying or the flush of arousal. I shook my head. "No, thanks," I told her. I could hear the sound of a cupboard door closing in the kitchen, then water running and the whur of the microwave. I was glad for a few minutes alone to calm down and wrestle with my forbidden thoughts about her. When I heard three loud beeps, then the microwave door close, my heart beat faster. Mom sat back down on the couch. She slipped her shoes off and tucked her bare feet under her, curling up on her left hip beside me. She was cupping the mug of hot chocolate in her hands and blowing into it to cool it's contents. Steam rose from it. Hot, like the blood filling my cock. Her pursed lips glistened with red lipstick and wild thoughts filled my mind. I forced my eyes from her seductive mouth and they settled on the curves of her hip and ass. Her black skirt was stretched tight over her, emphasizing the contours of her body down as far as her bare knees and calves. I folded my arms over my lap to cover my erection. When Mom decided that it was time for her to go to bed I was somewhat relieved. I wanted time alone to think -- to try to sort out my feelings. "Okay, have a good night, Mom," I said. "And wake me up when you get up so I can get started on the wood shop" "Okay, I will," she said. "You have a good night too. I love you, Honey." She bent down to kiss my cheek and her breasts swayed gently inside her blouse. Then her cleavage was inches from my face for a few moments. "I love you too, Mom," I said in an unusually thick voice. After I heard her close her bedroom door I grappled with the taboo thoughts and emotions that I'd had earlier. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not get the sensations of her body against mine out of my head. The image of her ample cleavage flashed in my mind. I imagined slipping my hand inside her blouse to fondle her. In frustration, I turned the television off and went up to my bedroom to masturbate. ### The next morning I was woken by the sound of my mother's dulcet voice calling my name. At first seemed like a dream. I smiled and shifted my hips, feeling my cock stiffen as I recalled the previous night. Then I opened my eyes and saw her standing a few feet from my bed. She was wearing a pink fleece housecoat and her damp hair hung limply over her shoulders. She smiled. "You said to wake you up. Remember?" "Yeah," I groaned, raising up on my right elbow to look at her. The blanket covering me had moved down to my hips while I slept. I was wearing a t-shirt and boxers, but still felt somewhat exposed -- especially with my hard cock tenting my underwear. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. "Want me to let you sleep a while longer?" she asked. "No, that's okay. I want to get an early start on the wood shop," I told her. A bittersweet smile appeared on Mom's pretty face as she looked down at me. "If you'd rather not -- I mean, if it bothers you, I could get someone else to do it," she offered. I gave my head a gentle shake. "No, I'd rather do it myself than have someone else do it. Besides, they wouldn't know what to keep." Mom nodded in agreement, then sat down on my bed. She rested her hand on my back, just below my shoulder blades. The bottom half of her robe slipped open a bit, exposing part of her smooth left thigh. My eyes went to it, then roamed up her body. Her breasts hung down slightly, filling out the front of her robe. Through the pink fleece I noticed the outlines of her nipples, teased to stiffness by the soft material covering them. My cock twitched. My senses felt overloaded by the sight of her and the feel of her warm hand gently resting on my back. "Okay. Thanks, Honey," She ran her hand through my tangled hair and bent down to kiss my cheek. As my mother leaned closer to press her lips to my cheek she shifted her hips to the right. It wasn't much, but enough for me to feel her firm rump pressing against my erection. Instinct told me to press against her harder, but I somehow managed to ease away. It was too late though. Her eyes widened and she raised her head, jerking it towards her right briefly, then back to me. She smiled. It was a teasing smile that I found sexy, which turned me on even more. She giggled. "Well, at least part of you is awake," she teased. I frowned, feeling my face growing hot. I tugged at the blanket, trying to avoid her foxy grin. She immediately recognized my discomfort and gave my back a soothing rub, still smiling. "Oh, don't be so bashful," she said. "It's not like I didn't know you had one of those things down there." She let out that sexy giggle again and my cock twitched in response. "And if you're anything like your father, it's awake before you are. He used to call it 'morning wood'." I blushed harder now. My hand was clenched in a fist, holding the blanket. I heard a nervous laugh leave my mouth. Mom got up from my bed, taking a quick glance back down towards my hips. There was a slight lump in the blanket now. "I've finished in the bathroom, so it's all yours. I'm going down to make us breakfast," she said. "Okay, thanks, Mom," I croaked. My erection pulsed in rhythm to my beating heart. The hot water from the shower helped to wake me up. I stood under it, stroking my cock with a soapy hand, thinking about Mom. I came with a loud grunt and braced a hand against the tiled wall, watching my cum being washed down the drain by the swirling water. The smell of bacon frying hit me even before I entered the kitchen. It made me hungry. Mom was at the stove, still in her housecoat, with a spatula in her hand. She turned and smiled as I approached. "Have a good shower?" she asked. There seemed to be an undercurrent of innuendo in her voice, but I ignored it. "Yeah. Now I'm starving," I said as I sat down. On the table was an empty plate that she had put out for me between a knife and fork. Mom brought the frying pan over and scooped out a heap of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon onto the plate. "I'm glad you're hungry because I made a big breakfast. I thought you'd want to eat well if you're going to be working," she said. I looked up at her with an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Mom," I said. Mom sat across from me, finishing her breakfast. Occasionally she glanced up at me but said nothing. I could feel her eyes on me as I chewed my food and wondered what she was thinking. I ate quickly. Both because I was hungry and I felt nervous. She had begun washing the breakfast dishes by the time I went out to Dad's old wood shop The padlock to the wood shop door opened with a click and I stepped inside. Instantly the smell of pine, sawdust and stale tobacco smoke hit my nostrils. Melancholia filled me as I recalled the times I had been in there while Dad was assembling a bird house or table. I looked around, feeling a lump in my throat. It was though time had frozen in the wood shop All of his tools were where resting where he had left them, like they were waiting for my father's hands to pick them up or flip their switch. There was a small pile of sawdust in the corner to my left, probably swept up by Dad the day before his heart attack. On the counter there was a half-finished bird feeder. Beside that was a paintbrush, now dry and brittle, sitting in a can that once contained paint thinner. A can of green paint sat beside that. A few pieces of plywood and dowels lay beside a bottle of white glue. I wiped the palm of my hand over my right eye and reached for the cord hanging from the fluorescent light. On the shelf above the counter was a white plastic radio, now yellowed and covered with a fine later of sawdust. An ashtray with a heap of butts sat beside that. I gave my head an amused shake, thinking it was probably a miracle that Dad never burned the place down with a cigarette years ago. After surveying the shop I concluded that there really wasn't much worth keeping. Maybe just a few finished birdhouses and some hand tools. The table saw and belt sander could be sold, as Mom had suggested. She would probably place an ad in the local newspaper for that purpose. I decided to save a few chisels, hammers, a square and a hand saw -- more out of sentimentality than any real need for them. There were also a couple of finished bird houses and feeders that I wanted as mementos; Mom would too, I knew. I had thought that I was done with my mental inventory when I noticed a large wooden toolbox on the floor beneath the counter. I recognized it as being another one of my father's creations. I lifted the heavy toolbox by it's brass handles on each side and placed it on the counter. A thick layer of sawdust covered the top. I flipped the clasp and opened the lid. Inside, I found a circular saw. That could come in handy and I decided to keep it. Beside the saw was an electric drill and bits-- another useful tool. Beneath these items I noticed a stack of magazines. Probably woodworking magazines with patterns and designs for birdhouses and feeders, I thought. I removed the saw and drill and placed them on the counter. When I began pulling the magazines out, shock and surprise overcame me and I let out a loud laugh. Rather than being woodworking magazines, they were copies of Penthouse, Hustler and Playboy. There must have been six or eight of them. Good for a different kind of wood, I mused silently. I decided that it was best to not tell Mom about Dad's stash of porn. I could come back another day when she wasn't home and remove them. Then as I pulled the last magazine from the wooden box I discovered something that changed my life forever. Lying at the bottom of the toolbox was a yellow envelope about eight inches long and half as wide. It was covered with a fine coat of dust and tattered at the corners. Curiosity filled me as I reached inside to remove it's contents. But nothing could have prepared me for what I discovered. From the envelope I pulled out a stack of Polaroid photographs. I let out a gasp when I saw that they were pictures of Mom. My cock began to stiffen as I flipped through the photos one by one. There were a dozen in all. Most were rather tame -- just my mother posing seductively on the bed, wearing a white lacy neglige. It left half of her thighs uncovered and was cut deep in the front, leaving most of her breasts exposed. The outlines of her nipples were inches from the edges of the white lace covering them. Through it I could see the faint outlines of her dusky areolas. They appeared to be a few inches in diameter, surrounding her thick nipples. I could tell from her hair style that the pictures were probably about ten years old. My heart was pounding and my cock throbbing as I sorted through the pictures, eager to see more. In some of the photos Mom had pulled her negligee open wide to reveal her breasts. They stood out from her, hanging slightly towards her flat stomach. In one she was cupping them in her hands, wearing a seductive smile on her face. Her oak-coloured nipples were thick and long, as though she, or more likely, Dad, had been playing with them. In other photos she was on her hands and knees. Her round ass, covered by white lacy panties, pointed at the camera while her heavy breasts hung towards the bed. She was looking back with that same sexy smile. It was no wonder Dad was attracted to her. I stared at the photos of my half-naked mother and rubbed my hard shaft through my jeans. My heart was beating so fast I was afraid it might explode. I gave a nervous glance back towards the door, now worried that Mom might come in to see how I was doing or offer to help. Dad's Private Collection At that moment I wanted to take my hard cock from my jeans more than I ever had in my life. I wanted to stroke it while staring at the photos of my naked mother, until my cum shot out over the pine boards and sawdust in thick streams. Instead, I continued looking. When I got to the last photo in the pile I thought for a moment that I would cum in my jeans. The final Polaroid was taken from Dad's point of view. Mom was kneeling at his feet, his thick cock was in her mouth and her wet lips were wrapped tightly around it. She was looking up towards him and her bare breasts filled the bottom of the frame. She looked perfectly wanton and I knew at that moment that I had to have her. My hands trembled as I returned the photos to the envelope. I quickly covered it back up with the magazines and put the saw and drill with the bits atop them. Once I had shoved the toolbox back beneath the counter I felt less nervous, but still just as horny. I killed another half hour or so in the wood shop I needed the time to calm down from my arousal as much as I could before facing Mom again. I gathered up scraps of wood and swept up the sawdust. I threw it all into a green plastic garbage can in a corner, all the while still thinking about the images of my naked mother. Those photos I would retrieve some day when she was not home. By the time I got back inside Mom had put on a pair of jeans and a red tank top. My cheeks still felt warm, but if she noticed them she would assume it was the result of the early August heat and the work I'd done. She was standing at the counter, looking at a flyer from a grocery store. "All done?" She turned to face me, pushing the flyer aside. "Yeah. There are a few tools and bird houses I want to keep. You can sell the table saw and sander. There's a little wood left and I thought we could keep that too -- just in case we need it for something," I told her. Mom nodded. "Thanks for doing that. I could have, I suppose, but I dreaded going in there." Mom let out a sigh. "So many memories." She gave her head a slow shake, looking grief-stricken. "I know," I said. "It made me really sad." Mom stepped over to me and put her right arm around my shoulders. She clutched me tight to her. I slipped my arm around her waist, then felt her breast rubbing against me. My cock swelled and I forced my eyes to remain focused on the counter in front of me. "You've got sawdust in your hair." She was running her hand over my head as she spoke, brushing me off. "There was a lot in there," I said. "I swept it up and put it in the garbage." Mom pressed her nose to the top of my head and inhaled deeply. "Mmmm... I can smell it on you," she said. "Your father always smelled like that when he came in from there." A wistful look came over her face. "You remind me of him so much." "Really?" I asked, surprised by her remark. "People always said I look like you." "Well, you've got my hair and eye colour, but as you get older I can see you're built like Henry," she said. "Tall, with broad shoulders." I blushed, recalling the photo of her giving Dad head and thinking that the family resemblance doesn't end with my height or shoulders. My cock began to harden and the memory of her ass against it that morning returned to me. Her firm breast was still against my left side. I glanced down to it from the corner of my eye, now with a better knowledge of how it looked. But still not good enough for my yearning. "I have to go out for a few groceries. Is there anything you want?" Mom had taken a grocery list from the table and was stuffing it in to her purse. I thought for a few seconds. "No, thanks," I told her. "Okay. I'll be back in about an hour." I listened to the sound of Mom's car leaving the yard, then waited another five minutes. After she had gone I ran back out to the wood shop I pulled the wooden toolbox from under the counter and retrieved the magazines and envelope of Polaroids from it. Clutching them tight, I raced up to my bedroom. I hid the magazines at the bottom of a box containing old comics I had bought when I was a child, way back in my closet. Next, I pulled my jeans and underwear down and laid back on my bed. I stared at the photos of Mom, one after another, stroking my cock and imagining all the lewd things I wanted to do with her. By the time Mom returned home I had cum so hard I felt dizzy, then cleaned myself up. I had hidden the envelope of photos in the bottom drawer of my bureau, beneath a pile of pullovers. I was surfing the Net when I heard her car in the yard and went down to help her bring in the groceries. I followed her inside, carrying four of the plastic grocery bags. She had set hers down in front of the fridge and was searching through one. I placed the bags in my hands down beside her, watching what she was doing. "Oh, maybe it's in one of those," she said, reaching for the grocery bags I had placed on the floor She bent over and began rifling through one of the bags. I could now see down the front of her tank top as it billowed from her chest. Her round breasts, held inside a white bra, jiggled and swayed. My jaw went slack as I stared at them. When she raised her head and her narrowed eyes met mine I grew frightened. She straightened her back, giving me a wily smile. "I was going to show you that your favourite bagels were on sale, but you seem distracted," she said in a teasing voice. "What? I was waiting to see what you were looking for," I spat out. Mom placed the bag of onion bagels in her hand on the kitchen table. She seemed amused rather than angry or repulsed, which reassured me. It surprised me too. "You really are like Henry," she said in a soft voice. "His head turned like a doorknob when he saw a set of tits." I wanted to laugh, but was too nervous. My eyes darted about, avoiding hers. When I felt my mother rest her hand on my right shoulder, I flinched. Then she slid it over my shoulder blades. "I keep forgetting you're not a little boy anymore," she said. "Why did you have to grow up so fast?" Now she sounded melancholy. I turned towards her and shrugged. "I'm so scared of losing you, like Henry." Her voice grew shaky, as though she was fighting tears. "You're not going to lose me, Mom," I told her. I slid an arm around her waist, giving her a squeeze. Mom's right hand moved over my stomach and she held me to her. "What happened to that little boy who was scared of thunderstorms and shadows of branches on his bedroom window at night?" "I grew up, Mom. I'm not a little boy anymore," I said. Mom let out a soft laugh. "I think I found that out this morning when I sat down on your bed," she retorted, bathing my neck with her hot breath. "Mom...!" I exclaimed, shocked and mortified. But also quite excited. Once again, the sound of her soft giggle thrilled me. I could feel her breasts rub against me as her shoulders shook a little. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "Sometimes I get carried away with my teasing. But... I know where your eyes were when I was bending over just now." I shrugged, unfazed. "Is there anything wrong with me admiring a beautiful woman?" I countered. Mom chuckled at my flattery and rolled her pretty eyes. "I don't think I'm beautiful, but I am your mother," she said. Her rebuke wasn't harsh; it actually seemed like she was conflicted. Like she was reminding herself of our kinship as much as me. In her eyes there seemed to be a storm as she wrestled with her emotions. "And definitely beautiful." I pressed my lips softly to her warm cheek and kissed her. Her body relaxed for a few seconds as I held her. "Let's get these groceries put away," Mom said. She sounded almost frightened as she slipped from my arms. Mom and I silently emptied the grocery bags and put their contents in cupboards and the fridge. The room was thick with tension and we avoided one another's eyes. My cock throbbed and my balls ached for release. Although the urge to pull her to me and tear her clothes off as I kissed every inch of her was nearly overwhelming, I fought it off. "I'm going to go up to my room and download some music," I told her. The groceries had been stowed away and Mom was sitting at the table, pretending to be engrossed in a newsletter about herbal remedies that she had gotten in the mail. She looked up and shot me an uncomfortable smile. "Okay," she said with a curt nod of her head. I pushed my bedroom door ajar and let out a long sigh from behind it. My eyes moved towards the bottom drawer of my bureau where I'd hidden the Polaroids of my mother. I wanted to take them out and spread them out over my bed and stroke my cock until my cum sprayed over the bottom sheet. Knowing that was impossible, I settled for wasting the next couple of hours online until Mom's enchanting voice called me down for supper. My normally voracious appetite had abandoned me that evening. Mom had always been a wonderful cook and she had prepared one of my favourite meals: pork chops, apple sauce and mashed potatoes, with sauteed onions. It all tasted like ashes in my mouth as I sat across from her, forcing it down. I felt guilty knowing that she had made the extra effort, but I was too upset to be hungry. She seemed to feel the same because I noticed her pushing her food around and just picking at it rather than savoring it. Once her plate was nearly empty she went to the sink to rinse it off. I forced the rest down, then pushed myself away from the table. "I'm going back up to my room," I said. "Thanks for supper, Mom. it was great." My mother turned from the sink as she ran steaming water over the frying pan. She seemed indifferent. "Okay," she muttered. I closed my bedroom door tight behind me and sat down in front of my computer. I heard myself sigh and ran my hands through my hair. I leaned back in the chair, thinking about my mother and worrying that I had somehow irrevocably sullied our relationship by allowing my libido to control me. I felt like crying. Yes, I loved her and wanted her like no son should ever want his mother, but never at the expense of our special bond. When I heard two light raps at my bedroom door, I jumped. Mom opened the door and poked her head inside. "I'm going to bed now. Have a good night," she said in a flat tone. I took a quick glance down at the clock on my computer. It was almost eleven. I was surprised that the hours had passed so quickly. "Okay. Have a good night, Mom," I said, then after a lengthy pause added "I love you." "I love you too. Sleep well." With that, she closed my door and went to the bathroom. I listened to the sounds of the toilet flushing and running water, then Mom's bedroom door closing. Once I felt secure that she was in bed I turned on the light on my night stand and flipped the switch to the ceiling light. After getting undressed, except for my t-shirt, I slowly slid open the bottom drawer of my bureau. I pulled the envelope of Polaroids of my mother from beneath the stack of pullovers and sorted through them. My cock swelled and rose beneath the hem of my t-shirt. Soon my shaft was thick and rising up from the curly dark hair surrounding the base. It twitched, pointing up towards my belly. The mushroom-shaped head was swollen and a deep red. Precum began to seep from the thin slit dividing it. I rubbed my thumb over it, shivering in anticipation. I pulled my favourite photo of my mother from the envelope. It was a close-up of her from the waist up. She was smiling seductively and cupping her heavy breasts in her palms. Her fleshy orbs eclipsed her slender hands and her thick, dark nipples were aimed directly at the camera, like two dark pearls, surrounded by lighter rings a few inches around and vaguely oval. Her negligee was open wide, revealing most of her torso down to the subtle curve of her tummy, just below her cute little navel. But it was her full breasts with their elongated nipples and the look on her face that excited me the most. I returned the envelope with the remaining photos to the drawer, still holding my favourite one. I could feel my hard cock bounce and my balls sway as I settled back on my bed. The blanket lay in a tangled bunch below my feet. I stared at the picture of my mother as I slowly stroked my shaft as it pointed towards the ceiling, hoping to make the experience last as long as possible. My breathing was heavy as I looked at the Polaroid in my hands, recalling the feel of her firm breasts pressed to me the times we had embraced. In my mind, I imagined her breasts glistening with oil and her squeezing them together as I plunged my engorged cock between them. I could hear her soft, sexy voice urging me on, telling me how good it felt and how much she liked my thick meat between her slippery globes. I don't recall if I heard my mother knock on my door. She must have, because when it was closed she never entered my room without even a couple of perfunctory knocks before sticking her head inside. I guess I was too lost in my lewd fantasy world to have heard. All I remember is her stepping inside and letting out a sharp cry of shock as she discovered me lying naked on my bed with my fist wrapped around my throbbing erection. I let out a deep grunt and reached for the blanket at my feet. The Polaroid sailed from my hand. It landed on the floor as I attempted to cover my hard pole. I was covered now, but the blanket never served to completely hide how my hard cock stood up from my trembling body. "I saw your light on from under the door and thought we should talk... but... I... I guess you're busy." Mom's halting voice wavered as she spoke, staring at the noticeable tent my erection was making in the blanket. Then her wide eyes moved to the Polaroid on the floor. It had landed face-up so she could see it was of her. Her mouth went agape and another abrupt gasp of shock left her throat. "Where did you get that?" Her question was more out of astonishment than interrogation. "I found them... in Dad's wood shop," I sputtered, turning my head towards her. I could feel my cock twitch as I looked at her. "Them?!" Her eyes grew wider as she approached my bed. She snatched the Polaroid from the floor, giving it an incredulous stare. "They were in an envelope, in a toolbox," I explained. "And where are the others?" she demanded. "There -- in the bottom drawer, under some sweaters." I gestured with my head towards my bureau. Mom tugged the bureau drawer open and dug to the bottom, then pulled the envelope out. She tilted it to one side, letting the photos slide into her palm. As she flipped through the pictures she looked aghast. Her legs grew weak and she slumped down on the bed beside me. "Your father swore that he had destroyed these years ago," she said, sounding bewildered. "I was so scared that someone would find them." I shrugged. "Well, I guess he didn't," I muttered. Mom shot me an irritated look. She was wearing a white shirt that hung down half-way over her smooth thighs. At first I thought it was a blouse, then I noticed which side the buttons were on and realized it must be one of Dad's old shirts. It was unbuttoned part-way down her chest, just enough to allow me to see a thin strip of her soft skin showing through the narrow gap. The white cotton was tight over her braless breasts and I saw the faint outlines of her nipples through it. My fear and agitation was replaced by arousal once more as I helped myself to eyefuls of her bosom, barely concealed by the thin shirt. As she leaned closer I noticed the shadowy outlines of her areolas through the cotton. "And you were looking at these and..." Mom's gentle voice faded out as her eyes moved down towards the outline of my erection beneath the blanket. It had wilted some, but was still prominent. I gave her a guilty nod, unable to confess to my sin aloud. The envelope and Polaroids slipped from Mom's hand and fell to the floor. She looked down at them, then picked up the one I had been looking at when she interrupted me. She studied it, then smiled. "Is this your favourite?" she asked. Her blue eyes met mine and they had taken on a dreamy, inviting quality. "Yeah," I admitted with a nod, nearly entranced by the look on her face. "Why?" she asked. She had dropped the picture to the floor and was leaning closer, resting her hand on my stomach. Her soft touch made my cock return to it's full size. "I don't know," I mumbled. "You look so sexy in it." "You like my tits, don't you?" she said in a soft, breathy voice. Her hand had slipped down my stomach so it was resting against the blanket covering my cock. "Yeah," I admitted. "Just like your father..." she remarked. Her face was a little pink now and her eyes had narrowed slightly. I chuckled, now very aware of her fingers toying with the trail of my hair just above my belly button. When her gaze shifted towards my erection I was filled with nervous excitement. "Did you get a good look at them this afternoon when I was bending over the groceries?" she asked. Her eyes had met mine again and her fingertips were teasing my stomach. "Uh... yeah... pretty good," I admitted and licked my lips. "Not as good as these photos though..." she replied with a slight chuckle. "Your father talked me into taking them after I'd had a few glasses of wine. He said they'd be his private collection." Her eyes left mine for a moment as she reminisced. Then she gave me a regretful look. "I guess you know I'm going to take them so I can destroy them," she added. I nodded once more and my eyes moved down to the outlines of her nipples straining the white shirt. I wanted to slide my hand back under the blanket to my cock, but clenched my fist. "But... maybe I can make it up to you," she continued in a sultry tone. I gave my mother a perplexed look, but before I could form a question she had slid the blanket down to my knees to uncover my thick erection. It twitched when the room air hit it and I inhaled deeply. When I felt her fingertips glide over my heavy balls it felt as though the room had begun to spin. She cupped them in her warm palm and smiled into my eyes. "No one can ever know about this," she cautioned. I swallowed hard and nodded. I would have agreed to anything for her to continue. My hands were fists at my sides as Mom curled her fingers around the base of my throbbing shaft. She gave it a gentle squeeze, then began to slowly work her hand up and down over it. "Mmmm... you really are built like Henry," she remarked, staring at my cock. "Nice and thick." I was too overcome with passion to reply. My eyes moved from her hand wrapped around my cock to her breasts, rocking slowly beneath her shirt. Her nipples were harder now and their size was more noticeable through the material. She leaned over me, caressing my erection with one hand, while squeezing my loose balls with the other. I lifted from the bed slightly, trying to fuck her fist. "Like that?" she asked, looking into my half-closed eyes. "Yeah," I mumbled. Mom continued to watch my cock as she stroked it with her soft hand. She had quickened her pace and her breasts shook inside her shirt. I reached out and cupped her left one in my hand. It was heavy and firm. I gave it a squeeze, pushing it upwards, unable to fit even half in my hand. I rubbed her thick nipple with my thumb, but she recoiled and stopped moving her hand. "Uh-uh..." she chided softly. "No touching me, Richard. Okay?" She gave me a teasing smile. I gave my mother a reluctant nod and let my hand fall back to the bed. Once I had done that she resumed pumping my shaft with her hand. Her eyes were fixed on the head, as though she was waiting for streams of my cum to shoot from it. I knew it wouldn't be long before that happened. My balls shook a little and her full breasts danced inside the shirt as she pumped her hand faster, fucking my cock with it and bringing me closer. When I finally came I let out a deep groan and arched my back, thrusting my twitching cock into her fist. She kept up her pace. Cum shot from my cock in three quick bursts. Some of the first one landed on her hair. It gleamed against her shiny, black tresses. The rest landed on the back of her hand and fingers and my stomach. Mom kept stroking me, using my thick, hot cum as lube until I began to soften. Then she released me, letting my glistening cock rest on my thigh. Dad's Private Collection She wiped her hand on the tail of her shirt, giving me a satisfied, loving smile. One dollop of cum remained on her thumb and she brought it up to her moist lips. Her tongue darted out, licking it from her soft skin. I lay on the bed panting and looking up at my beautiful mother. Puddles of my cum coated my stomach. I smiled. "I love you, Mom," I breathed. She bent down and kissed my flushed cheek. Her breasts swaying over me. "I love you too, Honey," she whispered. "Now get some sleep." She gathered up the photos of herself and the envelops, then left. Less than a minute after she had returned to her bedroom I had fallen into a deep slumber, still smiling. ### When I awoke the next morning I rubbed my eyes and rolled over. The time on the clock radio beside the lamp was almost nine-thirty. I was surprised that my mother had let me sleep in so long. I looked up at the ceiling, recalling the hand-job she had given me the night before, almost unable to believe such a wonderful thing had actually happened. I smiled and sauntered towards the bathroom. When I entered the kitchen Mom was sitting at the table, holding a mug of coffee. A half-eaten piece of toast with orange marmalade spread over it was on her plate. She glanced up, gave me a dim smile and took a sip of coffee. Her hair hung around her shoulders. The morning sun coming through the window made it shine. She was wearing a navy blue blouse with white pinstripes and a black skirt that covered her knees. It was pleated and loose. Already my cock began to stiffen as I looked her over. "Morning," I said. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissing her just above her left temple. I felt her body stiffen as I embraced her and my heart sank. "Morning," she echoed without raising her eyes. "What's wrong, Mom?" I asked, taking a step back, but still leaving my hand on her shoulder. "Nothing," she said, but her voice sounded hollow. "Are you okay?" I asked, now growing worried. "Of course." She got up and brushed past me, carrying her plate to the sink. She dropped it and it fell against the stainless steel with a loud clatter. I winced and cautiously approached her. I took her hand in mine and eased her closer until our eyes met. "I love you," I said. "What's wrong? "I love you too, but nothing's wrong," she said, sounding irritated. Now I knew something was wrong for sure. "Is it because of last night?" Mom sighed and although she didn't say a word, I had my answer. I pulled her to me and kissed her cheek. She held me tight, but it seemed more out of fright than anything else. My hard-on throbbed and I could feel it pressing into her soft stomach. I slid my right hand down her back to the waistband of her skirt. "How did things ever reach this stage?" She seemed to be thinking out loud rather than actually asking a question as she rested her chin on my shoulder. "It's a natural progression," I explained. Mom pulled her head away and cocked it to one side, looking confused. "We're all each other has," I said. "We rely on one another and trust each other more than anyone. It's only natural that we would turn to one another for comfort and support... or love." "Most people would say this isn't natural at all -- that it's sick," she replied. Now she looked distressed. I shrugged. "Are you going to live your life by their standards? How many of Dad's friends have stopped in to see how we're doing since the funeral? They have no right to judge." My words seemed to resonate with Mom. She gave me a wan smile. Her face seemed a mixture of arousal and sadness now. I wanted to try to make her feel the love and pleasure she had known when Dad was alive. Not because I was horny, although I certainly was, but because of the boundless love I felt for her. "I love you, Mom," I said. "I love you so much, Richard," she gushed. It seemed as though she might cry, but the tears never flowed. A thin smile appeared on her face and she looked down between us to where my erection was poking into her tummy. "Is that morning wood?" she asked with a shrewd grin. "No, that's mommy wood," I quipped. Mom laughed and pulled me to her again, pressing herself to my hard shaft. "How long have you, you know, had these feelings for me?" she asked. "Not long," I said. "It just sort of started a few nights ago, when I was holding you on the couch -- then I found the photos and..." I stopped and shrugged. "The photos were the last straw..." she joked, giving me a wide grin. "Something like that," I said. I stepped backwards, towards the chair behind me, tugging Mom along by her hand. I sat down and pulled her onto my lap. Plenty of times as a child I had sat on her lap, but this was the first time that she had ever sat on mine. Her left leg dangled down towards the floor and her right one was between my open thighs. I laid my hand on it, just above her knee and slid my other arm around her so I was holding onto her left hip through her skirt. I could feel her firm ass beneath my palm and wanted to give it a hard squeeze. She leaned into me, slipping her arm around my shoulders, then gave me a suspicious look, as if to tell me she didn't think this should be happening. But I felt her relax against me and I moved my hand a few inches higher on her thigh. "Have you ever... ah... thought about me?" I asked her. Mom gave me an embarrassed look and her eyes darted away for a moment. "A few times," she admitted. "Like when?" I asked, very curious. "Like when I'd see you coming from the shower with only a towel wrapped around your waist or sometimes when I'd hug you and could tell you were a little excited. Then, like you said... the other night on the couch. I thought I could tell that you were.. excited, like when I woke you up yesterday. It put ideas in my head. Naughty ideas." Hearing my mother's admission turned me on even more. I held her tighter, slipping my hand down a little further on her ass. She never protested, so I left it there. The hem of her skirt had ridden up a few inches above her knee and I placed my hand on her bare skin. She looked down, seeming curious about what I had planned. When my hand disappeared under her skirt and began stroking the inside of her thigh she clutched my wrist, pushing my hand lower. "No... Richard," she said softly. "Okay," I said. But still kept my hand several inches above her knee, stroking her thigh with my fingertips. "Your skin is so soft," I told her. Mom gave me a pleased smile. "Thanks," she said. "But I better get up." She slid from my lap. "Why?" I asked, frowning. "What if someone comes in and sees us?" Her voice was full of concern as she stood beside me. Her eyes moved to the bulge in my jeans. I stood up and took Mom by the hand. She knit her brow as I took her by the hand and drew her towards the living room. We stopped in front of the couch and I placed my hands on her waist and pulled her to me. Once our bodies were pressed together I kissed her lips softly. A faint sound of surprised welled in her throat but she opened her mouth wider. Her lips were soft and moist on mine. I pinched her bottom lip between my own and tugged. When I pulled away from her, she sighed. "Wow... I..." was all she managed to say. Her tongue ran over her lower lip. When I began pulling at the buttons of her blouse she lowered her head, watching my fingers. She stood there, as if bewitched. I unbuttoned her blouse, then tugged it over her shoulders and down her slender arms. It fell to the living room floor like a feather in the breeze. "You're beautiful, Mom," I said, sliding my hands up her sides and around to her back. Mom held me by the arms as I unhooked her bra, then let it fall to where her blouse was. Her pendulous breasts moved slightly and I cupped them in my hands. I pushed them upwards and wrapped my wet lips around her left nipple, engulfing her entire areola and sucking hard. It thickened and rose as I sucked and flicked my tongue over it. I could her my mother's feeble moans as I teased one nipple, then the other with my lips and tongue until they were engorged and glistening wet. I pulled my t-shirt off, wanting to feel her hands on my bare flesh, then returned to her thick, shiny nipples. "Oh god, Richard... that feels so good." Mom's voice was heavy with passion as she ran her hands over my bare back, dragging her nails down my spine and sending ripples of pleasure through me. My right hand had slipped under her skirt as I continued sucking on her left nipple. When I cupped my palm over her hot, damp lips through her panties she moaned and gripped my shoulders harder. I pressed down with my thumb, finding her clit and massaging it in a tight circle. Soon her wetness began to seep through the cloth and her breathing became mixed with whimpers of ecstasy. I felt the damp material slip between her folds and I rubbed harder, now grinding my hard cock into her stomach. "Let's go upstairs," I said, not taking my mouth from her breast. Mom's hands ran down my arms and I guided her by the hand up to her bedroom. I kicked my shoes off and brought her over to the bed. I pressed my lips to hers once more. She welcomed them and darted her tongue out. As we kissed I reached behind her and unzipped her skirt. It fell around her feet. I hooked my thumbs in her panties and slid them down her silky thighs, then helped her step out of them. I stared at my naked mother, taking in her gorgeous body, with it's wonderful curves and valleys. In person, she was even more desirable than in the photos that Dad had taken. Her heavy breasts shook a bit. I followed their contours down to her curvy hips and the patch of dark hair pointing towards her most intimate spot -- where I longed to be. She smiled and looked down to the bulge in my jeans. She stepped forward and unfastened them, then helped me tug them and my underwear down. I kicked them aside and pulled her to me. My hard shaft slipped between her soft thighs. It rubbed over her wet lips as we explored each other's body with our hands and eyes. The bed quaked beneath us as I tugged Mom down beside me. She looked nervous, yet lovely as she crawled closer to me. Her hair hung down around her face and her breasts moved gracefully. I cupped her by her left elbow and pulled her closer, then eased her down on the bed as I stroked the inside of her right thigh. Her skin was soft and hot. Mom bent her knees, looking up at me. She wiggled her head on the pillow and reached up for me with her hands. She was smiling and her face had the bloom of passion on it. "Make love to me, Honey," she said in almost a whisper. Her parted thighs were velvety soft as I slid between them. I looked down at her, feeling her hands stroke my arms. She smiled and lowered her eyes to my shaft. She licked her lips, then reached out to wrap her fingers around it. "Just go slow," she whispered. "It's been a long time for me since... you know..." I kissed her forehead and eased the head of my cock in her. She let out a soft cry and I stopped, leaving just a few inches in her. I felt her squeeze my shaft, then push her hips to take more of it. She closed her eyes and moaned as I filled her. Holding my hips, she began guiding my motions, building a steady rhythm. When I began pumping a little faster she wrapped her legs around mine, holding me to her. "I love you, Mom," I said. I kissed her neck, then slid my lips down to her right breast to suck at the nipple. Our moans filled the bedroom as Mom and I made love. Her hands stroked my back and grabbed at my ass. She was tight and wet and as my shaft moved in and out she squeezed it, massaging it within her walls. Her breasts moved with each of my thrusts. She had arched her back a little and was bucking her hips harder, meeting my thrusts. "God... you're so beautiful..." I said, looking down at her. Mom smiled. "You make me feel beautiful," she said. A minute or so later I heard her issue another moan, only louder. She gripped my cock harder as she came, lifting her hips from the bed. I pumped harder, filling her. Now I was getting close. "Cum on me," she said, forcing the words out. Then she clenched her jaw as another wave of pleasure filled her. "Where?" I asked. My balls slapped against her and I could feel her musky juice running down them. My cock was shiny wet with it. I looked down, watching it slide in and out between her glistening pink lips. "My tits," she panted. "All over them." Her eyes were closed and she was sucking on her bottom lip and tugging at her left nipple. I slid my cock from her. She opened her eyes part-way and reached for my hips. She lowered her legs and pulled me on top of her. I gripped my shaft in my fist, watching as she squeezed her tits, pushing them into round hills. She smiled up at me, waiting. My cock was slick with her juice as my hand pumped it. As the first stream of cum shot from it and sprayed her breasts, I groaned. I squeezed my shaft, coaxing two smaller bursts of thick, hot cum from it. It left white streaks and puddles over her nipples and areolas. I leaned closer, spreading my seed over her hard nipples with the head of my cock. "Mmmm.... there's a lot of it," she breathed, watching me coat her with it. Mom was still cupping her cum-soaked breasts. My cock slid easily between them, almost rubbing her chin as I shoved it hard. I pushed, stabbing at them over and over until I felt myself begin to soften. Reluctantly, I pulled away and rolled over beside her on the bed. I slid my hand over her stomach and kissed her cheek. She turned on her side towards me, still looking blissful. Cum was running down her breasts. I traced my finger around a hard nipple, spreading my cum around. "You really like my tits, don't you?" She tilted her eyes down towards my finger. "Yes, but I like all of you. You're beautiful, Mom. I love you." I kissed her lips softly. "I love you so much, Richard," she said. "I'm glad you found those photos." "Really?" Her comment surprised me and my eyes grew wide. "Yeah. If you hadn't, this might not have happened," she explained. I thought for a moment, then shrugged. "It still might have. We were both thinking that way." Mom smiled and nodded in agreement. I looked past Mom to the night stand behind her. The drawer was open several inches, just enough for me to see inside. Lying there was the envelope containing the Polaroids of her. "I thought you were going to get rid of those," I said, craning my head back to her. Mom shrugged. "I was, but I thought I could keep a couple. For you, and to remind me of those times. What do you think I should do with them?" she asked. "Whatever you want," I told her. "But I don't need photos when I have the real thing." Mom smiled and wiggled closer to me. She draped her arm over my side. "You can have me anytime you want," she said.