24 comments/ 306095 views/ 57 favorites Jason Comes to the Back Door By: Charles Petersunn This story is a sequel to Jason and Mrs. Johnson. I have received requests to provide a sequel to this story, but not until the suggestions of A_Satori, did I feel that I could. A_Satori and I in fact worked on this sequel together, and he deserves considerable credit as a co-author and should be recognized as such (unless you don't like the story). Please note, some material is repeated from the two prior chapters, yet it still would be very worthwhile to first read "Jason and the Johnsons" and "Jason and Mrs. Johnson," as the rationale and foundation for what happens in this story will be inadequate without an appreciation of what has already occurred. As was true in the prior two stories, all of the characters are at least eighteen years old. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Madeline Johnson, out of grave concern that her daughter, Bridget, maintain her chastity until her wedding night, had continued her periodic sessions with Jason, Bridget's boyfriend. It was really quite understandable. Jason was such a virile young man and no mother could really expect him not to be stricken with lustful urges in the presence of the sweetly delectable vision that was her daughter, Bridget. Mrs. Johnson had in fact even considered suggesting to Bridget that she dress-down a bit, as her tight sweaters and short skirts must be very difficult for the young man. But, as a mother, she knew that any such suggestion would only be met with indignant protestation and perhaps even rebellion. She therefore did what any mother would probably do: throw herself on the young man's sword for the sake, the safety, the purity, of her daughter. It was, indeed, quite a sacrifice on Madeline's part. Not too many mothers would do what she felt should be done. But, Madeline was not an ordinary mother married to an ordinary husband. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Johnson approved of premarital sex. Actually, it was much worse than that. They fully disapproved of premarital sex. They had avoided any such dalliances themselves when they were Bridget's age and they fully expected their daughters to follow suit. Certainly Bridget's older sister had been chaste. Bridget was a Johnson girl, and Johnson girls were good girls. Mr. Johnson even assumed that once his daughter was married she wouldn't partake in deviant, paraphilic acts, such as oral sex. These were things that good girls just didn't do, and never would do. Only the whores, the porn stars, the sluts, would do such things. As Mr. Johnson would say, oral sex bore no relationship with the real purpose of sex: creating offspring. He would never put his lips on a woman's vagina. Just the thought of doing something like that seemed one step removed from homosexuality (although he never really explained why). Even if he could not defend the logic of his position, the act was repugnant simply because it was placing the lips which kissed your children on the lips through which your spouse expelled waste material. What is loving about that? Is not such an act inherently disgusting, a degradation? Mr. Johnson, of course, was no hypocrite. If he wouldn't do it for a woman, he certainly wouldn't demean this woman in the same manner by expressing or even asking that she perform such an act on him. And, so, the sexual activities of Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were rather constrained, to say the least. In fact, they hadn't had sexual intercourse since Bridget's birth. This had become rather difficult for Madeline. Actually, quite frustrating. She became terribly stricken by dreams, many of which shaded into nightmares. There was, for instance, the dream in which she was tied up by a group of young men. Her top was pulled down so that they could see her bosoms, and they were masturbating, right in front of her. She was trying to tell them in her most commanding, authoritative, maternal voice to untie her, to cover her breasts, to stop playing with themselves, warning them that their mothers would be so upset if she saw what they were doing. She kept explaining that she was as old as their mothers, that she was really no different from their mothers. But, no matter what she said they just wouldn't listen. She tried to squirm out of the ropes, but that only made her naked breasts bounce and wiggle, much to the young men's obvious pleasure. The scene then suddenly changed. She was on her knees while they smacked her face with their throbbing, yearning, hard cocks. And, then, they were no longer there, or at least their bodies were almost entirely gone. All that was left were their hard, erect, stiff dicks, poking and squirming in the air. The air all around her was filled with naked stiff, hard penises. Some were small, some were large, some were straight, some were curved. There were just so many of them, and they were poking her all over her face, crowding and pushing each other to try to get to her, like the air was filled with swimming, swarming penis snakes. Some of them were even trying to get into her mouth! A particularly small but very stiff one was having some success squeezing past her lips. It had lodged its head against her lips and was now pumping, thrusting, and forcing its way in deeper, and then suddenly the head popped in. She squeezed tight with her lips to prevent the rest of it from getting through and, for some reason, she began to lick and lap away at the soft round crown. Perhaps she was trying to give it what it wanted so that it would keep still. She didn't know. All that she knew in her dream was that she was in fact licking the knob of a hard, stiff penis. Then, she saw that one of them, a really, really big one, was beginning to pulse and throb right in front of her eyes, yet she couldn't turn away. She was transfixed by the sight. The bulbous head seemed to swell and expand to three times its size: so shiny, so purple, so swollen. It suddenly exploded and she felt her face become awash with huge splats of cum. She woke up, her face soaked. She wiped some of the moisture from her brow. She was so relieved that it was her own perspiration and not actual male ejaculation. Although, she looked over at her sleeping husband; wondering; wondering what it would be like if he squirted his stuff all over her face, and then she felt so terribly, terribly guilty over having such a horribly repugnant thought, and dream. She had wondered if perhaps she should see a therapist. She was having some pretty disturbing dreams (see "Jason and Mrs. Johnson"). She thought, 'I mean, my goodness: dismembered erect penises'? And, those feelings, those terribly disturbing feelings she would have when she awoke. It was really not just between her legs, but deeper inside, like a hunger that desperately needed to be fed. She would at times get out of bed, go downstairs, and have cold ice cream to try to cool off the heat between her thighs, feeding herself in at least one way, but never really satisfying the hunger. At first she tried to alleviate the burning yearning by going to an all women's health club (Mr. Johnson wouldn't have allowed her to go to a uni-sex gym) and exercising for a couple hours five days a week. The physical workouts didn't really drive the hunger away. Cold showers after a workout sometimes helped, but not for long. In fact, the workouts might have even been oddly problematic, making matters worse in one particular regard. The severe regimen of workouts had the benefit of helping her develop a rather strikingly firm, trim, slender, and youthful body. She was a very attractive woman and had been a very pretty girl. She had long wavy blonde hair, pretty green eyes, rosy cheeks, sweet red lips, long shapely legs, and very, very full breasts. However, as a girl and as a woman her breasts had typically been kept hidden by her matronly dresses, loose sweaters, and aprons. As a girl, and a young lady, she was often quite embarrassed at how large they were, and typically wore clothes that would minimize, if not hide, their prominence, their fullness, their appeal. But, now, as a middle-aged woman who has developed through a considerable amount of dedicated hard-work, a youthful, firm, and healthy body, she began to appreciate and value her physical fitness, her appeal. She particularly admired how firm and fit her bottom had become, which she at times would study, in the privacy of her bedroom, looking over her shoulder after she came out of her morning bath, feeling really quite proud to see no cellulite, giggling as she squeezed her cheeks, her bottom becoming even tauter. She had never paid much attention to her bottom when she was a young woman. Frankly, she hadn't paid much attention to any part of her body, at least not in that way. But, she now purchased more flattering clothes, hoping to attract her husband's attention, to get him to notice how his wife was slimmer, more appealing and, dare she say it, sexier, than she had been twenty years ago. Most husbands would probably appreciate that. But, her body just seemed to fall on blind eyes, at least when it came to Jim's. But, not to the eyes of other men. In fact, as she got fitter and fitter, slimmer and slimmer, she began to notice that she was actually turning the heads, attracting the eyes, of quite a number of other men, and even the eyes and interest of younger men, men as young as Jason. What woman would not find that flattering? She started noticing men, especially young Jason, ogling or even gawking at her large fleshy orbs, bolding standing out above such a narrow waist. She would at times even catch Jason admiring her bottom, which made her face blush. So, the intense exercising not only failed to relieve her tension, it perhaps added to it. As the voluptuous breasts on such a trim figure increasingly attracted the interest of the male animal, like bucks to a doe in heat, so too did her own interests, her own deep feelings, become further stirred. What did in fact end her disturbing dreams were the sessions with Jason. Her torturous nightmares slowly began to dissipate with each lovingly satisfying encounter. She had to laugh about that. Imagine how much money she might have spent on a therapist, when in fact all she needed was to have sex with a young man. If only more women realized how helpful and effective such straightforward therapy could be. Her primary motivation though was, of course, to help her daughter maintain her chastity by keeping her lustful boyfriend in check. It must be acknowledged that she did love Jim, her husband. There should be no mistake about that. He was a very good provider, a good man, and a good father. He loved his wife, and he loved his daughters, both to the bottom of his heart. Madeline knew how much Jim wanted Bridget to remain chaste and be pure for her wedding night, and so, she was really doing this for him as well. Truth be told, though, she also felt a degree of motherly responsibility for Jason as well, to help the young man be the best that he could be when it came to pleasing and satisfying his young bride. After all, that bride was her daughter and, as a mother, she certainly wanted everything for her daughter. The wedding night was indeed a very special moment in a young woman's life, and what mother would not want her daughter to have it be a most wonderful, satisfying, and glorious experience. It certainly hadn't been that way for her, and she wanted life to be so much more rewarding, more gratifying and more wondrous for Bridget. The sign of a successful parent is having your offspring go farther, be better, and grow further, than yourself. She smiled at the thought of what a wonderful wedding present she was preparing for her precious Bridget. Madeline's problem now though was that she didn't really have much to offer when it came to instructing Jason in matters of the body and adult sexuality. Goodness, what useful experiences has she in fact had? Prior to Jason, she could probably count on both hands how many times she had sexual intercourse. Actually, that is a bit of an exaggeration. They did have two children, after all. But, just as some people can count the number of persons with whom they have had sex, Madeline could probably count the number of times she and her husband have had sex, as it was always on Friday (never on Sunday, and he was always too tired during the week), and done only for the purpose of procreating a child. It desisted when she became pregnant with Bridget. And certainly when they did do it, it was lights out, between the sheets, and strictly functional. He also required that they do it on her side of the bed as he really couldn't tolerate the wet spot. After all, he was doing it for her, so that she could have her baby, and so she should be the one to have to sleep on the wet spot. Where to learn about sex? How ironic this felt, a mother seeking advice and guidance about sex. And, how woeful and miserable she now felt as a mother, knowing so little. Where does one turn? She considered going to the library and checking out a book on sex education, but she could hardly face the librarian when she checked it out. She could say it was for her daughter, but would anyone really believe that? And, besides, what if somebody she knew happened to notice her with the book? The answer then suddenly dawned on her: the computer. Everything one wants to know is now on the tips of your fingers. Her husband did have a computer in the den that was attached to the internet. Bridget used it for her homework. Her husband used it to manage the household bills and family finances, and even Madeline had used it on occasion, largely for new recipes. She asked her daughter for further instruction on how to 'ski' the internet, as the kids would say. Bridget's first lesson was to instruct her that it was surfing, not skiing. Not a particularly good start. Bridget was quite happy to help her mother. She was in fact very pleased that her mother was actually venturing out into the world, even it was just cyberspace (her mother kept calling it hyperspace). She felt her mother was just so overly timid and inhibited, so ignorant of the world, so provincial. Most daughters do feel that way about their mothers, but it really was true in this case. Bridget recognized that her mother was so much under the thumb of father. Actually, the entire family was under daddy's intently watchful eye. Bridget so looked forward to the day when she could move out. Frankly, she could technically, legally, move out now. She was, after all, eighteen. But, daddy forbid his daughters from leaving home until they were fully grown, and in his mind that meant being at least 21. If you couldn't drink or vote, then how could you expect to live independently? Bridget showed her mother how to surf and google. It was kind of fun teaching your mother how to do something. The roles in life were finally reversed. Not surprisingly, her mother did ask whether she might come across any forbidden, naughty sites, inadvertently, of course. More precisely, she asked how does one get to one of these sites, so that she would know how to avoid doing so, accidentally. Bridget was not surprised by this. She could imagine her mother stumbling across something and becoming so shocked and frightened that she wouldn't return to the computer for days, if at all. She would probably even have the computer removed from the house, and Bridget certainly wouldn't like that. So, she reassured her mother that daddy had made sure the computer was fully protected from such accidents. He had installed software that blocked access to such sites, as well as changing some of the DNS settings himself. He blocked not only pornography, but anything concerning lingerie, bikinis, brassieres, panties, and so forth. Frankly, it did at times make it difficult to do some of her homework but, as daddy said, "Better safe than sorry." She felt her mother would be relieved to hear this, but she in fact appeared concerned. She reassured her mother further. "Really, mother, you couldn't access a forbidden site even if you wanted to." Daddy certainly made sure of that. "Yes," Mrs. Johnson replied, "that's good," but not sounding particularly pleased or comforted. "Honestly, mother," Bridget added, "I've never come across any such site accidentally." Mrs. Johnson felt that was a bit of oddly careful wording on her daughter's part. "Accidentally? Have you ever done it intentionally, gotten around the blocking?" She was asking for clues for how to do it herself, but was also quite concerned if her daughter had in fact gone to some sort of adult site. It was fine for her, the mother, to visit such a site for the good of the family, for the betterment of her children, but she certainly felt that such things would be quite inappropriate for Bridget and, may in fact be rather traumatizing for her. If Bridget had in fact done so, then perhaps she was already too late to protect her daughter. "Goodness no, mother!" Bridget strongly asserted. "You can ask daddy. There is even a monitoring program. If I tried to go a forbidden site he could check the history of the computer usage and would know every thing I've typed, every place I've visited, every attempt I made. Goodness, mother, I wouldn't even dream of trying," at least not on the home computer. Which is what ran through Madeline's mind as well. Apparently the home office computer wouldn't be a good source to learn anything. The next day she went to the public library and accessed one of their computers, using the instructions her daughter had provided. The library computer also blocked explicit adult sites, but was not nearly so thoroughly protected as her husband's. She googled 'sex positions.' The first site was apparently a page out of a popular woman's magazine, one of those that are sold at the supermarket. Mrs. Johnson found it rather risque, and couldn't imagine purchasing one, even if they were for women. It seemed like every issue had a front cover picture of a woman with large breasts and a plunging cleavage. Jim always sighed or even snorted with considerable frustration when he saw it, saying that someday he would complain to Krogers that they were selling adult material right in the middle of the family-oriented supermarket. And, perhaps he was right, for when she clicked that site she was immediately faced with a picture of two half-naked persons and an illustration of a guy apparently doing it to a woman from behind. She was bent over, on one leg. He was holding up her other leg by her ankle. She was resting on her elbows on a bed, her foot on the floor, her face to the mattress. It was really rather shocking. She clicked the green arrow to make the computer go back a page, like Bridget had shown her. The next site was explicitly concerned with sex positions, but it included quite a number of very strange ones, or at least the names were strange. She clicked the name of a position called 'Fire Hydrant,' and her eyes widened in shock, and wonder. On the screen was a picture of a naked woman with long straight dark hair, kneeling, her elbows resting on a chair. Behind her was a naked guy, also on his knees, clearly penetrating her from behind. She couldn't quite get why it was called Fire Hydrant, until she realized that the woman's left leg was raised up, like she was going to pee on a hydrant. 'Disgusting,' she thought. She quickly clicked the green arrow and then clicked, 'Ironing the crack.' It was the same couple. The chair was turned so it faced the camera, the woman was still on her knees, her breasts resting full on the seat of the chair, one hand was on the floor, the other holding or pushing the guy behind her, who was again doing it from behind. She couldn't get at all this time why it was called' Ironing the Crack.' She did a lot of ironing herself. Maybe it had something to do with the crack of her bottom? Did the word 'iron' have something to do with his erect penis? It just didn't make sense. Jason Comes to the Back Door She decided she didn't like this site. The names seemed screwy, and she didn't really like all the naked pictures. Well, actually, they were kind of interesting, but she was quite self-conscious about looking at them in the public library. The next site was a generic one for all sorts of information. Her daughter said that pretty much anything one wanted to know was on this site. This should be promising. She clicked it but right away she saw references to anal positions and analingus. Her heart raced and her face turned beet red. She instinctively squeezed her sphincter shut and looked around her. Gratefully, nobody had apparently seen what she was looking at, and she clicked the green arrow. She was not about to read about analingus! The next site was another one for alternative sex positions. The name of the site sounded rather credible and it turned out to be pretty much what she was looking for because it showed in fact over 100 different positions. She realized that she probably should have brought a paper and pencil to take notes. She clicked the site, and right away there was again a naked couple, but this time it was only a cartoon. Cartoons aren't so bad. There was no way she would be able to remember all of them. Many of them though had such cute names, like Turtle, The Plumber, Ballerina (Bridget as a child had dreamt of becoming a ballerina, and for a few years even took lessons), Ear Muffs (she rushed by that one though, as it really did look quite obscene), Jelly Fish, Peepshow, Pearly Gates (that seemed a little sacrilegious to her), Pie in the Sky (she loved to make pies, and Jason certainly liked them; he always took an extra slice), Rear Entry (he wasn't really putting it there, was he?), Spoons (that actually sounded kind of romantic, like lovers spooning for each other), Missionary (that was how Jim always did it; she couldn't figure out why though they would call it missionary, as it didn't seem particularly religious), Cradle (she smiled as she thought of her daughter in the cradle; it had been so long since she had a baby; she wondered if Jim might want another child), Rodeo (she did so much like riding horses when she was a little girl), Doggy (she got that connotation right away, and found the suggestion of bestiality really quite disgusting, but she could also feel herself getting warm between her thighs as she contemplated Jason mounting her from behind), and Prison Guard. Her eyes widened at that one. For unclear reasons, she really liked the sight of that one. Yes, yes, they would definitely have to try that one. She clicked the picture to get more information, and then suddenly the persons started to move. It was a movie cartoon! The characters actually moved. They didn't move much, but the movement was helpful in gaining a better appreciation of how each position worked. She scrolled up and down the list and kept clicking each picture, particularly Pie in the Sky. My goodness that one was so dirty! And, Doggy. There was also Doggy Standing and Doggy Twisted. There was no way she would do Doggy Twisted. It actually reminded her of when the male dog got caught and couldn't get it out. Wouldn't his thing break if you did that? It's got to hurt, and she certainly didn't want to hurt Jason's little penis. Well, she thought, her face getting a bit warm, it really wasn't so little, at least not when it got all hard and stiff. She giggled at the thought of Jason's big, hard stiff penis, and then nervously, self-consciously glanced around her, to see if anyone had noticed her outburst. She got out her purse. She did have a pen. She didn't have a tablet, but she did have a bunch of new recipes that Mrs. Beckwith had given her. She could write her notes down on the back of them. It took quite some time to get most of them down. But, she worked quickly, albeit carefully. She wanted to get the names right, and certainly get the correct positions of each person. It was too bad she wasn't good herself at illustrating. As she was scribbling away, deep in concentration and thought, her thighs warming at the sights, and her rather licentious thoughts, the librarian walked by and suggested, "You know, you can print it all out rather than having to write everything down." Madeline's face turned a deep red. She felt like a girl getting caught at the library stealing looks at pornography, which was essentially the truth of the matter, except she was a full grown woman, which was then actually much worse. There is no excuse for a mature, responsible woman doing something like this. "No, no, that's fine," she quickly exclaimed and as quickly clicked the 'X' at the top right hand corner to clear the screen of the site and the sight of the cartoon guy sticking it in and out, in and out, of the woman's upraised bottom. Madeline was mortified. "I'm all done. I got what I needed," not wanting to fully articulate what needs she did have. As fast as she could she slipped her pen and recipes back into her purse and headed for the exit. She would not be back to this library again for quite some time, or at least she would come at a different time, when that same librarian wouldn't be there. She certainly could not look her in the face again. As she was exiting the library Madeline glanced left and right to see if perhaps anyone else had seen her looking at the pornography. She had become so absorbed in those cartoons that she simply had lost track of the fact that she was in a public place. Nevertheless, she did feel that she had learned quite a bit, and could not wait to help Jason. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - She met Jason at the back door. Jason would periodically arrive at the house when Mr. Johnson was at work and Bridget was in class. Mrs. Johnson typically used some pretext, often a rather lame excuse, to have Jason come over, such as helping her move some furniture, checking to see if there was a mouse in the basement, reaching for something high up in the cupboard. She could not yet get herself to actually call him up to have him cover over for sex, even if it was for the benefit of her daughter. She also felt that some discretion was necessary. She didn't want any of her neighbors to begin wondering why the young man, Bridget's boyfriend, visited so often. Mrs. Holliday, her next door neighbor, was in particular quite a snoop. Plus, her husband or Bridget might come home unexpectedly. It wouldn't be difficult to explain one or two visits, but the more often it occurred the more difficult it would become. In addition, if Jason was in an indelicate state at the time of someone's arrival, he could perhaps successfully hide until the coast was clear. So, she had him park his car a distance away, at the end of a court that her husband and daughter would never drive down, and come to her back door. "Jason, it's wonderful to see you," she greeted cheerfully and innocently as she opened the back door for the young man. "Thank you so much for coming over." "It's really not a problem, Mrs. Johnson. I'm always glad to help," and to have sex with Bridget's mother, but he didn't mention that. The reasons she would give for the visit might in fact be lame, but if Mrs. Johnson needed some sort of pretext for him coming over, he could go along with that. It did seem like a rather small price to pay. Jason at first felt a bit uncertain, a bit guilty, about having sex with Bridget's mother. But, Mrs. Johnson had reassured him that it really was in the best interest of her daughter, and their relationship. After all, if he was having sex with Bridget's mother, then he wouldn't be tempted to have sex with Bridget, and he knew how much Mr. and Mrs. Johnson disapproved of that. Besides, it was really very difficult to refuse her. She was, after all, Bridget's mother. You don't deny requests of the mother of your girlfriend. His own mother had made that very clear. Mrs. Johnson was also so awfully darned attractive. Beyond simply her rather prominent breasts, her long shapely legs, and her pretty green eyes, he also admired her sweet red lips that always seemed to be gaily smiling. Plus, he did have to admit that he also enjoyed the sight of her swaying bottom as she would return to the kitchen to get more of the stuff for dinner. Sometimes though she would glance over her shoulder and catch him looking at her butt, turning his face red in embarrassment. He often imagined what it would be like to be her son. It would be so cool to have a mother like this. And, she did look really nice today. She was wearing a gayly patterned thin cotton spring dress that clung to her breasts. It was almost like the fabric was painted on, so tightly wrapped around her boobs rather than just hanging from them. And, on top of that, it even looked like she wasn't wearing a brassiere! He could easily see her nipples poking through the thin, soft fabric. His cock swelled in his pants, and every bit of his ambivalence over what they were doing was swept away. Bouncy, wiggly boobs in tight spring cotton dresses were really very helpful in resolving conflicted feelings. "You look very nice today, Mrs. Johnson." His mother had told him to do that too: always compliment the mother on her appearance, and this time it wasn't even a lie. "Well, thank you, Jason, that's so sweet of you. Come in now, come in, don't be shy." She quickly ushered him in before Mrs. Holliday might notice him at the back door. The back door opened into the kitchen. "Would you like a cool drink, Jason?" It was rather hot today, and he might want to cool off after the long walk from his car. "I do have some fresh lemonade." "No, no, Mrs. Johnson, I'm fine." Mrs. Johnson was disappointed. She had made the lemonade especially for Jason. "Well, maybe a cookie then? They're fresh chocolate chip." She knew Jason especially liked chocolate chip. "Oh, well, um, yea, I guess, if that's alright." "Well of course, sweetie, of course." She so much enjoyed it when the kids liked her cookies (they liked her pie even better). She took the serving plate from the counter and held it out for him, just below those big wiggly boobs. "You just dig in there." He took one, cookie. "Now, Jason, don't be silly. Have a few of them. You need your energy, you know." Her face reddened a bit. She hadn't really meant to imply anything, and then blushed further when she realized that she was probably the only one in the room to make anything out of what she had said. "Well, maybe one more." You definitely never wanted to refuse a mother's offering of her cookies, and if she encouraged you to take another, you certainly should, but you also don't want to appear gluttonous. He took just one more cookie. Mrs. Johnson put the plate back down on the counter, took Jason by his free hand, and led him from the kitchen. "I think today we should have some lessons. What do you think, Jason?" Lessons? He came over here for lessons!? Lessons in what? He was having difficulty in algebra, but he didn't think Mrs. Johnson had any particular expertise there and, besides, how would she know about that? He didn't recall telling her anything about that. Maybe Bridget had said something? As she gaily led him along she turned to him to say, "If I'm going to help you control your urges and everything, well, you might as well learn a few things in the process, don't you think?" Oh, so it wasn't going to be algebra. He was relieved to hear that. But, lessons about sex? Surely she wasn't going to give him a lecture about the birds and the bees, was she? Or perhaps something about the importance of birth control and proper protection. That would be a bit ironic, given that she never wanted him to use any protection. "You may think you know a great deal already, young man, but you can still learn a lot from the older generation." He smiled back. "Yes, Mrs. Johnson, I'm sure I can." He trailed a bit behind her as they climbed the stairs, his eyes admiring the swaying of her behind, her hips, in the soft spring dress as she made her way up the stairs. "Definitely," he reaffirmed, munching on his second cookie, contemplating that taut, rounded womanly bum. She turned back to him, over her right shoulder. "You really like chocolate chip, don't you Jason." "Yes ma'am, I certainly do." She smiled cheerfully. "I'm so glad. Do you like everything chocolate?" "I guess," he replied. "Just about, I s'pose." She led him down the hallway and into her bedroom, where she finally let go of his hand to stand over by the bed. She turned around and stood before him, looking seductively into his eyes and, without saying anything, slowly pulled the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders, one at a time, letting them rest against her arms for a bit. The dress still covered her body, perhaps hanging on solely by the prominence of her breasts, caught in part by her protruding nipples. Mrs. Johnson gave him a little smile as she wiggled her breasts, causing the dress to slip off of her breasts and fall to the floor, revealing to his eyes the wondrous boobs of Mrs. Johnson. They were not nearly so firm, nor were they so perfectly shaped, as Bridget's, but that was in part their appeal. These were the breasts of a woman, the mother of Bridget. These were true motherly boobs. It's not that they hung way down or sagged to the floor. On the contrary, they did stand up well, but their shape was more oblong than round, and they appeared to jiggle and wiggle with just about any little movement. Jason could bury his face in these bountiful flesh pillows. He would be absorbed, truly engulfed by their squishy fullness. He wanted to grab them so badly. His dick strained in his pants, wanting so much to slide up in between those fleshy love bags. That was something he had never done with Bridget. He would like to try that, fucking her tits, but he really didn't think Bridget would do things like that. Mrs. Johnson smiled at the boy's obvious wonderment and delight at the sight of her naked breasts. It was so nice to be admired, desired, and wanted, in that way, especially now at her age, and even by a young man no less. Yes, she was indeed a very lucky woman to have Jason dating her daughter. "Jason, would you like to take off Mrs. Johnson's panties?" She liked to remind him of who she was, of the special naughtiness of their relationship. It added a little extra spice to what would already be a very erotic encounter. "Yes, ma'am." As his mother said, never refuse a request from the mother of your girlfriend. He strode right up to her, got down on his knees before her, and placed his hands into the waistband of her panties. He paused for a moment to admire Mrs. Johnson's panties. It was actually a shame to take them off. They were string thong bikini panties, very delectably sexy, as they covered only the rising triangular bulge of her womanly mound, and the lace was so feminine, so enticing. These were in fact new panties that Mrs. Johnson had purchased for one of her sessions with Jason. Her husband would never approve of such a purchase. That was money that could go into fixing the gutters. And, he really wanted to buy a leaf filter. He was so tired of having to clean the gutters out each spring. Mrs. Johnson though appreciated how much Jason seemed to enjoy her panties, and so was really quite pleased with her purchase. Jim did keep a close eye on the family budget, and so Madeline told him that Bridget needed special undies for her gym class. She knew that he wouldn't ask Bridget about that as he avoided any such intimate discussions with his daughter, other than to be clear that there was never to be any "hanky panky" with Jason. Jason did not pause for too long. Most boys do ultimately prefer to see what was being hidden beneath the panties, even if the lingerie was itself very appealing. He pulled them down her thighs and all the way to her ankles. Mrs. Johnson balanced herself with a hand on Jason's shoulder as she stepped out of them. "Help me with my shoes too, if you would please, sweetie." He looked up at her and grinned. The view of Mrs. Johnson from down there, crouched down before her, was really quite stupendous: looking up at her face past her cunt, past her breasts jutting out from her chest like grand white slopes of a snowy mountain. They looked even bigger, more prominent and imposing, from his subservient perspective. It was almost like he could grab hold of them and climb up. He did like rock climbing. Mrs. Johnson smiled back down at him. She even wiggled her boobs again, just to be pleasant. Jason smiled in appreciation as those snowy cliffs wobbled and wiggled above him, and then helped her step out of her flats, and removed her socks. When she was totally naked, she began her lessons. "Alright then, Jason, I think it would be useful today to cover various positions in which you could make love with Bridget." Yes, this was much better than algebra, or lectures on birth control. "Yea, sure, Mrs. Johnson, that would be good." It would be a lot more than just good, but he didn't want to appear overly eager. That might be disrespectful. Mrs. Johnson had given this lesson quite a bit of thought. But, she still hadn't made up her mind. There were so many different positions. There was certainly no way they could get through all of them in one lesson. And, she just couldn't decide which to do first or in what order. It wasn't like she had any teaching experience in lesson plans. She then realized that Jason wasn't actually ready for his lesson. He didn't have any notepad or pencil. Well, she couldn't blame him for that. He didn't know that he would be going to school. Well, he did at least have to take off his clothes. "Now, Jason, if you're going to learn any of these, you'll have to remove your clothes, you know." She smiled at him. Such a silly boy to be standing there, all fully dressed while she was butt naked. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, and began to remove his clothing. It still felt a little awkward for him to be taking his clothes off in front of Mrs. Johnson. She was not only about as old as his own mother (although a heck of lot prettier and sexier, albeit he did feel bad thinking that; of course, he might feel even worse if he thought of his own mother as sexier). In addition, she was the mother of his girlfriend, Bridget. There was still something about this that troubled him. It just didn't seem quite right. He couldn't help but think that Bridget might be upset if she ever found out that he was having sex with her mother. Still, husbands and wives don't tell everything to their spouses that happened prior to marriage, and wasn't he doing this for her? If he didn't do this, Mrs. Johnson would get awfully suspicious about their relationship, about what was going on between them. Mrs. Johnson was now fully supportive of his spending time with Bridget, even being alone with her, blocking the efforts of her father, Mr. Johnson, from allowing any of that to occur (see "Jason and the Johnsons"). Heck, they might have even broken up by now if it wasn't for having sex with her mother. You never really knew how things would turn out. So, this was really the best way to ensure the success of their relationship. Mrs. Johnson paused in her study of her notes to study the boy undressing. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of the healthy young man stripping off his clothes. He even carefully folded and laid each garment on a dressing chair. She imagined that he must just toss them aside in his own bedroom. She could see that he was a courteous, well raised young man. He knew how to respect a woman's boudier. When he was down to his underwear, Jason hesitated. Mrs. Johnson didn't mind. She actually found the sight of him in his jockey briefs rather endearing. It made him look all the cuter, younger, like she had mistakenly walked in on him while he was undressing, and he obviously had been thinking about something very naughty, as he had a terribly hard boner poking out his briefs. Jason Comes to the Back Door Jason hesitated in part because of his ambivalence in doing this. Removing his briefs would be the final point of no return. And, besides, he was kind of hoping that Mrs. Johnson would offer to take them off, as he had done for her. But, she didn't really think it was right for her to do that. She was the teacher and the student should pull down his own underwear. That didn't make any real sense, of course, but she did like the feel of being in charge of a boy with a stiffie. "Now Jason, be a good boy and pull down your undies. Let Mrs. Johnson see your boner." When she put it like that it did make him feel rather silly. He had a stiff cock, not a stiffie or a boner. But, you don't correct the mother of your girlfriend when she is speaking of your erection. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, and pulled out the waistband of his briefs so that it would clear his stiff dick, and then slid his briefs down his legs and off his ankles. Mrs. Johnson smiled broadly at the sight of the young man's healthy, virile, stout cock, and even giggled to herself at using such a bold word to describe it. At least she didn't say it out loud. She really didn't want to encourage the young man to use dirty language. What would his mother say about that? Imagine if he used such language in front of his own mother, and she certainly didn't want Jason's mother to discover that he got those words from her! She did though admire the young man's cock. It wasn't that her husband, Jim, didn't have a real nice one himself. It's just that she so rarely ever saw it in its admirable, proud, manly state (only at night, while he was having some sexy dream) and a woman does like to admire a man being a man. She was feeling a little jealous of her daughter, knowing what she would discover on her wedding night. "You have a very manly penis, Jason," she forthrightly asserted. Jason felt a little embarrassed, but still quite proud. You do so much want to be liked, appreciated, and valued by the mother of your girlfriend, and there was certainly nothing better than for her to appreciate that you are indeed a man, capable of providing and satisfying her daughter. He stood up straight and tall, as did his hard dick, jutting out from him with equal pride. He recalled when he stood tall for his mother, showing off his young muscles. This was even better. Mrs. Johnson smiled at the young man boldly and proudly displaying his erection, like it was a new rifle that he had just gotten for Christmas. She turned her attention though to the lessons on how to use that rifle. She patted the bed. "Alright, Jason, get up onto bed." She certainly didn't need any warming up herself, as she could feel that she was quite warm and wet already. Jason again had the image of his own mother speaking to him, telling him to get into bed after he had put on his pajamas. He didn't know if that image troubled him or aroused him. He got onto the bed, his stiff dick weaving and waving in the air. He wondered if he should get under the covers. His mother would certainly want him to do that. But somehow he didn't think Mrs. Johnson wanted him there. Mrs. Johnson had decided to start with one of the easier positions, or at least one that looked rather nice. She explained as she got onto the bed, her large breasts swinging and bobbling in the air, "Now, Jason, we've already tried a couple of positions. Let's see, if I can recall, we first did 'missionary,' that's when you lie down on top of me. That would be the most common way, but I still don't understand why they call it that." Jason did, but he didn't want to explain it to her. He didn't want to give her the impression that he was some sort of ladies man who knew all the dirty stuff. Plus, it was clear that she enjoyed feeling like she was the knowledgeable one, explaining everything to him. Mothers are like that. It's best under such circumstances to feign ignorance. He just shrugged his shoulders. "This first one we'll try tonight is called Jelly Fish. You get on your knees, and then sit back on your ankles." He did as she instructed, feeling a bit self-conscious over the fact that his dick was sticking straight up at her. He just couldn't get over the fact that this was Mrs. Johnson, Bridget's mother, the same woman he met many times before in this house, always looking so wonderfully attractive, yet so matronly, so motherly. He would always act so well-behaved, respectful, and proper around her, despite the fact that his eyes would so often drift to those wonderfully luscious boobs and womanly derriere. He had never imagined that it would someday come to this, kneeling on her bed, naked, pointing a stiff dick at her, as she was getting into position to mount him. Bridget did have a really neat mother. Mrs. Johnson got her legs on either side of Jason, her womanly cunt just inches from his eyes. He had not yet in fact even seen Bridget's cunt. In that regard, the sessions with Mrs. Johnson were actually working really well. It was very possible, if not likely, that he would have gotten this far with Bridget if it had not been for her mother (or had broken up because of her father). They had been heading in the direction of escalating their sexual activity. Mrs. Johnson was indeed offering a very effective, and pleasing, alternative means of addressing his needs and desires, and he no longer put any pressure on Bridget. But, as he gazed upon the cunt of Mrs. Johnson, he did wonder if Bridget's would be as fleshy, with the thick double folds of her squiggly, curly, womanly lips. He supposed that such a thing would be genetic, wouldn't it? Have scientists ever studied how similar were the cunts of mothers and daughters? Mrs. Johnson squatted down onto Jason's stiff dick, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she did so. "Get your arms around me, Jason, pull me in tight. You're going to have to help hold me up." "Yes, ma'am," he gasped, as he felt those womanly lips touch, grip, and then with one smooth lovely motion, slide down onto his cock, fully engulfing him into that warm soft wetness, fitting to him like a slick, fleshy thick and tight glove. He sighed with deep, intense satisfaction as his dick penetrated deep within her. He was reminded again of how a woman's cunt is so, so, so much better than his hand. "Alright, then," she gasped, and started rocking back and forth on his cock, mimicking the cartoon woman on the computer. It was an instant success. Her weight drove his cock deep up inside her, deeper than it had ever been before. She suddenly wrapped her legs around his waist, holding herself up by tightly gripping and squeezing him within a scissors hold, her position maintained in large part by being impaled on his stout pole. But then quickly they both fell back down onto the bed, him falling on top of her. Jason was deeply embarrassed. He knew he was supposed to have held her up. She should have warned him that she was going to do that. And, besides, she was a grown woman, as big as himself! Well, actually, that's no excuse. It wasn't like Mrs. Johnson was really heavy or anything, and he certainly didn't want her to think that she was overweight. Imagine giving your girlfriend's mother a piggy back ride and she topples you over, being unable to hold her up. No, that wasn't good. You never want to give her the impression that she might be a bit on the heavy side. At least his dick was still lodged in her cunt. That ought to count for something. Mrs. Johnson though just giggled at their clumsiness. "Okay, well, we're not the most experienced with Jelly Fish. While we're like this, let's try the Desk Chair." Jason did know the missionary position, but he had to admit that he was now in fact learning new things. Desk Chair? Keeping him still tucked up inside her, she lifted her legs up, knees bent, and then lifted up her hips a bit as well and said, "Okay, stay on your knees and, um, well, uh...drive it in." She felt a little funny saying that last part. It sounded a bit too coarse, a bit raunchy. Jason though did indeed drive it in. He braced his hands on either side of Mrs. Johnson's face and plunged his stiff cock in and out of her tight, wet, womanly cunt. He found this position to be fantastic, as he could indeed really thrust his cock in and out with considerable force, driving down in deep, pumping her cunt like a deep, pounding piston, which he did with considerable youthful energy, enthusiasm, and force. "Oh my goodness!" Mrs. Johnson exclaimed, feeling the young man suddenly fuck her like a frenetic beast. She placed her hands on his young, masculine chest, feeling his taught pecs, his racing heart, his heavy breathing, his banging body. Jim had never fucked her with such force, such enthusiasm, and her pussy melted, dissolved, with the thrusting and pounding of the tumultuous churning of this boy's cock deep down inside her quavering cunt. She laid back and simply accepted his pummeling, pulverizing, bruising fuck. "Oh man, Mrs. Johnson," Jason gasped. His cock seemed to become engulfed, absorbed, in the slick soft tight cunt of Mrs. Johnson. She might be an older woman, but she still had a pretty darned tight pussy (thanks apparently to the neglect of Mr. Johnson). He had never felt such pleasure before. Well, maybe he had the last time he was with her, but it was so amazingly wondrous, and he gave her all he had, showing to her, demonstrating for her, the wonderful enthusiasm and energy of youth. The room was filled with the sound of his abdomen slapping against hers, his cock slushing out her cunt. "Wait, wait," Mrs. Johnson gasped, with considerable reluctance. There was still so much to cover, and she was not so sure the young man, nor herself, could last terribly long going at this rate. It did often take an adult to help the youth pace themselves. Jason stopped. "What?" "Here," she said, "let me get my legs up." She strained to lift them up higher. "Help me, Jason," she asked, "get your arms on them. Help me keep them up." Mrs. Johnson's legs were now almost all the way back to her head, naturally raising her cunt up even higher, like it was being presented for a planting or a spiking. She gasped, in part for the sex but also from the strain of the position, "Here, this is the Folding Chair." She didn't have to tell Jason to start fucking her again. He could now get his cock even deeper down inside, amazingly so and, for Mrs. Johnson, the angle of penetration was even better for his dick to hit that special sweet spot that really made her squirm. "Jason," she gasped, "yes, yes, that's so good, do it boy, do it to me, do it to Mrs. Johnson," she pleaded, her pelvis wiggling and squirming under the driving thrusts of the boy's dick in and out of her cunt. "Oh fuck, Mrs. Johnson," he gasped in reply, returning to his frenzy, lost in the fitful furor of his fuck. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" "Jason!" Mrs. Johnson gasped, this time shocked for a different reason. She did not like that kind of language in a young man, and certainly not from the one dating his daughter, and even right here, in her house, in the sanctity of her boudoir! She didn't really know what to say. She was appalled, disturbed, confused. Jason was shocked as well, at himself. He used such language with her daughter. Bridget certainly didn't mind, but he had never done so in the presence of Mr. or Mrs. Johnson, of course, and would never have intended, or imagined, doing so. "Geez, Mrs. Johnson," he exclaimed, his dick now still, but still lodged inside her. "I'm sorry. Really, I'm sorry. I've never said that before." Mrs. Johnson wasn't too sure she believed that. But, perhaps she should excuse the boy. After all, he was in fact fucking her, wasn't he? But, still, it was so discourteous, so disrespectful. What if he said such a thing in front of Mr. Johnson? Of course, though, it was rather unlikely that he would be fucking her in front of her husband. Nevertheless, perhaps this young man needed to have his mouth cleaned, and she didn't mean with a bar of soap. "Yes, well," she said, "let's try the Ear Muffs." She hadn't been so sure that she would be willing to do this one, as it seemed really quite dirty, but her inhibition was offset by the importance of teaching this boy a lesson. "You lie down on your side, facing me." At the moment, Jason would do just about anything. Actually, he would have done anything anyway, his yearning balls thinking for him now. But, he also wanted to make up for the slip of his tongue, which would now have to slip in somewhere else. He got into position. "Lift up your head," she instructed and then slipped her right leg underneath his head, sliding her body down the bed, sliding his head up her leg, up her thigh, until it was safely, snugly, ensconced between her thighs, his face pressed firmly against her wet womanly cunt. It was indeed a very dirty, if not vulgar, position, and Mrs. Johnson's face even turned red at the sight of what she was doing, or more accurately, what he was doing, burying his face deep into her cunt. His lips and nose were fully engulfed by the soft, wet folds of her wet, drippy cunt. Jason had already performed oral sex for Mrs. Johnson before, but it had been in a more traditional and respectful position, one in which he was in control. This was really far more raw, more smutty, more obscene. "Now," she instructed, "you do a good job and clean your mouth out, Jason. You were a very bad boy." "Yeth, Mthith Johthon," Jason slurred, his mouth full of fleshy womanly cunt. He took his punishment well. Actually, it wasn't really a punishment, as he enjoyed with considerable pleasure eating out Mrs. Johnson. And, there certainly wasn't that nasty soap taste when his own mother made him do it as a kid. Still, Mrs. Johnson's cunt wasn't the tastiest thing he had ever eaten. Don't misunderstand. Mrs. Johnson made very good pies. His favorite was her chocolate chip pie. He so much liked that. But, this wasn't really as tasty as that. Nevertheless, it wasn't like the kidney pie his own mother made. He really, really hated his mother's kidney pie. Just thinking about it would make him gag. Mrs. Johnson's fleshy cunt pie, a little sour or bitter perhaps, he couldn't quite tell which, was no chocolate chip pie but it was much, much better than his mother's kidney pie. Mrs. Johnson made sure he got a real good mouthful, pressing and grinding her cunt into the young man's mouth. She kind of liked this position for feeding the boy, as she could watch his cock bobble and bob, while holding his face firmly and tightly against her twat, allowing her own face to express her feelings without any inhibiting self-consciousness. And there was quite a lot to see on Mrs. Johnson's face, as it was awash with base, fundamental, pure and intense bliss. Nothing really felt better than having a guy use his lips and tongue all over and over your cunt, caressing, licking, lapping, slurping every nook, curve, and cranny, and then even working the clit as well: molding, squeezing, massaging the stiff nub, driving her into an agitated frenzy, her hips squirming, her tits jiggling, her face beaming in a contorted ecstacy. "Jason," she gasped, "yes, oh yes boy, that's so, so nice, lick me Jason, suck your mummy." There was more she wanted to say: things that she was thinking, things that were dirtier and filthier to say, more natural to say, but she stopped herself, and him, before they gushed from her mouth in a spasmodic paroxysm. "Stop, stop, that's fine, that's enough" she gasped, her voice breathless with arousal, her breasts heaving up and down. She let go of the boy and fell back on her back, sliding over so that she was parallel to the foot of the bed. She pushed the pillows aside on her left, nudged him a bit over on her right, and then lifted her legs up high and over her back, over her head, so far back that her feet rested against the bed, behind her head and off to the side. There was indeed another significant benefit of all those hours working out: Mrs. Johnson was a very limber lady. And, more importantly, her cunt was now raised up high into the air. Too high perhaps really to be fucked, although Jason, ever the optimistic young man, would be willing to give it a try. Mrs. Johnson explained, "Pie in the Sky, Jason," her face reddening at the naughtiness of the name, the blood naturally flowing into her head, her face, when in such a position, and with some embarrassment as well at the rather obscene nature of her position. Nevertheless, she did playfully exclaim, "Have another piece of Mrs. Johnson's freshly baked pie!" Jason got up on his knees, in front of her Mrs. Johnson's hot, home made pie, which was in fact steaming with ripe juiciness, the air thick with the aroma of her tart, clammy pastry. He dove back in for a second helping. Mrs. Johnson did make a very good pie. Jason felt like he was in a pie eating contest as he grabbed hold of Mrs. Johnson's cheeks like he would grasp hold of a plate of fresh pie and then, with absolutely no hint of any table manners whatsoever, simply plunged his face into the hot sticky wet pie, engorging, gobbling, gulping, and guzzling her gloppy cunt in a greedy, orgiastic furor. "Ohhhhhhh Jason!" Mrs. Johnson gasped, and she lost control of her mind, her mouth, her dignity. "Eat me, Jason, eat me, eat my, my," she hesitated, then said, "eat my pussy." It was so shameful to speak that way. It would have been shameful to say such a thing to her husband, but to do so in front of a young man, Jason, her daughter's boyfriend? She knew it was wrong, but it felt so right, so natural. Jason briefly pulled away, his face awash with her sticky juices, to respond, "Yes ma'am, you taste really good, Mrs. Johnson." "Oh my, please," she moaned and grasped hold of the back of her knees to keep her pie open for his feasting, his devouring. This was one time she did not worry about, or was offended by, someone pigging themselves out at the dinner table. Her position in fact opened up another treat as well: her anus, and Jason soon found his way to that extra special desert. He wasn't too sure Mrs. Johnson wanted him to try a taste of anus, but it was right there on the plate. It must be there for a reason, and he slid his face down and beyond her cunt, to lick and lap at her red and brown wrinkled asshole. "Oh my!" Mrs. Johnson squealed. She certainly had not been expecting that! It was really quite amazing what boys will explore, will get their fingers into, what they will stick their tongues into, when you're not watching them closely. But she could hardly have expected him to lick her there, could she? She was really quite shocked, disturbed, yet frankly titillated. Actually, titillated was putting it too lightly. She felt electrified. "Oh my goodness!" she said more strongly, as she felt the young man's tongue licking and tickling her anus. She had not realized how many nerve endings she had there, how good it would feel to have a young man, any man, lick her there. She squeezed her sphincter spasmodically as she felt his tongue try to work its way inside. Jason released his tongue. "Is that alright, Mrs. Johnson?" "Yes, yes," she gasped, but with the removal of his tongue the electrical current was broken and she quickly regained her sense of maternal dignity, as well as self-consciousness. Having her anus licked was indeed rather nice, to say the least, but it just wasn't natural, particularly for her eventual son, nor was she so sure she wanted to encourage Jason to be licking Bridget's bottom hole. "Now Jason," she asserted in her womanly tone of voice, as Bridget's mother, "you might want to ask Bridget first before you do something like that with her, you know. You might not want to just spring something like that on her." Jason Comes to the Back Door Jason sensed her ambivalence over what he had done. It's not easy telling what a girl, a woman, will like and not like in bed. But, still, she did seem to like it and he sorely doubted that Mrs. Johnson would have let him do it if he had warned her in advance. Mrs. Johnson felt that it was time for something a little more normal, more romantic, more appropriate for Bridget's wedding night. She twisted away from Jason and swung her legs back over and down off the bed, briefly stretching her back as she struggled off the bed. She made her way to the middle of the room, her legs a bit wobbly, her boobs even more so. Jason admired the sight. Mrs. Johnson was really a very beautiful and attractive woman, and with a very nicely taut butt for a woman her age. No young man could ever imagine having a better mother than Mrs. Johnson. He watched her breasts sway and wiggle as she turned toward him and reach her hand out for him. She said, smiling maternally, "Will you have this dance with your mother, Jason?" It was traditional for the groom to have a dance with his mother-in-law. It was a lovely moment. It was perhaps rather premature to refer to herself as his mother-in-law. She certainly did not want to scare the boy away, but somehow she felt that he wouldn't run. Fright was not the emotion Jason was experiencing. He almost leaped from the bed to join her on the dance floor, his erect dick complementing her swaying breasts, wagging and waving as he strode across the soft, thick carpet. "Now," she explained, "this one is called the Dancer. Step up close to me." He did, as close as he could go without having the head of his dick bump her tummy, which then wasn't really standing very close. But, boy, imagine if that actually happened at the wedding reception. That would pretty much ruin the moment, your mother feeling your erection against her abdomen. But, this was a bit different. "Don't be shy, Jason, put your right hand around my waist and I'll put my right hand around yours." It really did feel like a wedding dance. They stepped in closer together. "Now, I'm going to raise my right leg and you'll use your left hand to help me keep it up, and then, we'll, um." It was a bit obvious what would occur next, and he did try to do it, but getting his cock back into her cunt was a bit awkward in this position. Jason was not an experienced dancer, nor is it really surprising for a young groom to look awkward and feel clumsy as he tries to dance with his more experienced and versed mother. Goodness, imagine if you had to get your cock up inside her as well! Talk about pressure. Well, at least this wasn't in front of a lot of guests. With a bit of awkward shifting Jason did eventually get his dick back up inside Bridget's mother's pussy. He sure hoped he wouldn't be that clumsy at the reception. Mrs. Johnson smiled. Dancing with your daughter's boyfriend, and future husband, is such a sweet occasion. She snuggled up close to him, pressing her soft full womanly breasts, her erect nipples, into his youthful taut chest, feeling his thick dick snuggled up in her cunt. She probably never felt closer to Jason than now. She imagined how lovely it would be if this really was at Bridget's wedding. Well, they wouldn't be naked then, of course, but if that day finally came she will look back and think of this moment when she does in fact dance with Jason at the reception. They held each other closely for awhile, enjoying the tender moment. Bridget would probably get all teary eyed if she saw her boyfriend, Jason, with her mother, in such a poignant, precious moment. It can be such a relief when the parents do finally accept your boyfriend, and Mrs. Johnson had clearly accepted Jason, right up into her cunt. Mrs. Johnson gave Jason a squeeze, with her cunt, tightly hugging his dick with the muscles of her quim as she did his body with her arms, and then slowly moved her hips against him, leisurely moving his cock in and out of her warm, wet, cunt. Slow dancing is certainly much more romantic than fast dancing, and a slow fuck is perhaps at times better, more loving, more feeling, more sensual, than a quick, rapid, heavy thrusting of an animalistic fuck. Jason now seemed to feel every little centimeter, curve, and crevice of the interior of Mrs. Johnson's cunt with the sensitive soft head of his dick slowing sliding in and out. It was like he was now savoring his food rather than gulping it down, enjoying every taste, each subtle shift in texture. He was learning quite a bit about Mrs. Johnson, about how her cunt felt deep up inside, and even about her as a woman. He so much wanted to give Mrs. Johnson pleasure, to bring her to fulfillment, to an orgasm toward which he was quickly heading himself. He began to thrust with a bit more force, a bit more urgency. It was a risky gamble as it could very well bring him off before it did her, and the last thing you want to do with your mother is to have a premature ejaculation, leaving her on the dance floor unsatisfied, unfulfilled. "Oh Jason," Mrs. Johnson softly gasped, feeling herself getting close to her orgasm. These moments with Jason were so good, so wonderful, so special. She had never enjoyed sex before, or at least not to this extent, as she had never given herself over to the act, to the pleasure, to the pure experience and joy of a sensual fuck. Before she did lose control, she asked for one more position: "Jason," she whispered, "One more, please, if you could. If you would." "Yea, yea, sure," Jason gasped. "The Ballerina. I want to do the Ballerina." "Well, yea sure, Mrs. Johnson," he replied, his voice a little breathless. "If you want." He had no idea what that meant. He made a mental note to be sure to ask Bridget what dances her mother liked before the wedding so that he could learn at least one of them. It would be a nice surprise. Ballerina would be a natural progression from the more straightforward Dancer. The essential difference was for Mrs. Johnson to raise, or have raised, her right leg up even higher, so high that it was resting against, in fact even somewhat draped over, Jason's left shoulder. It was a position that required considerable flexibility and dexterity on her part, but that really wasn't a problem, with all the exercising Mrs. Johnson had been doing over the past few years. And, Jason did very much like this position. It really stretched open Mrs. Johnson's cunt. He now understood why it was called Ballerina, but it hardly seemed elegant, ethereal, or refined, like a ballerina. To him it was much more obscene, lewd, and shameless than the Dancer, with Mrs. Johnson's leg raised up so high, so wantonly, so far that he could more easily get at her cunt. His movements became a bit more forceful, more rabid, more pressured. "You know, Mrs. Johnson," Jason breathed heavily as he drove his cock in and out of her pussy, while she thrust back and forth, complementing his moves with her own pelvic thrusting. Their bodies were delicately balanced in their obscene dance. "Bridget wanted to be a ballerina once." Mrs. Johnson leaned back and smiled at the boy. "Jason! That's right! How did you know that?" She seemed to be more impressed with Jason's knowledge of Bridget's childhood dream than with his cock driving in and out of her cunt. But, perhaps that was understandable, for a mother. Jason couldn't really tell her the whole story. "Um, yea," he grunted, trying to concentrate on the fact that he was fucking Mrs. Johnson. "I don't know, you know, she won that contest, you know," grunting more than speaking, as he continued to shove his dick in and out of her slippery slit. Bridget had told him one time of winning a ballerina contest, although in fact every single one of the contestants had won. It was good for their self-esteem for everybody to be a winner. "Did she show you her tutu?" Mrs. Johnson had stopped her complementary thrusts, now seemingly oblivious to the fact that her leg was way up in the air, draped over the boy's shoulder, her cunt being plunged with his thrusting dick. That was getting to a part of the story he really didn't want to tell. "Yea, sure," he gasped, feeling like they were beginning to get really off track. He thrust harder, trying to get her attention back to the matter at hand, the cock at her cunt. Mrs. Johnson lowered her leg off Jason's shoulder, and lifted her cunt up and off of his cock, even stepping back from him. "Wasn't her tutu pretty?" Mrs. Johnson so much loved Bridget in her pink tutu. It had such bountiful layers of graceful, wispy, full, pink lace and tulle. Mrs. Johnson had in fact made it herself, starting with the Kwik Sew Pattern 261, and she bedazzled it with lots and lots and lots of rose petals and sequins. "Yea," Jason replied, "it was real cool." He didn't know that Mrs. Johnson had in fact made it. If he had, he certainly would have been more complimentary. This conversation also just seemed so strange, standing there with his stiff wet dick sticking out, discussing Bridget's tutu. It really wasn't what he wanted to be doing, to say the least. But, it was true that Bridget was awfully cute in it, and frankly sexy. She had tried it on for him once, in her bedroom, and he got rock hard at the sight. Bridget did love pink, and she looked awfully good in it. She even had matching fully ruffled pink panties. She did have to let the waistband and leg out for it to still fit, but she had managed. Jason got probably one of the best hand jobs ever when she was wearing that tutu, but boy did Bridget get upset when he squirted his gism all over it. "You know, it still fits her," Jason said, recalling that moment when he spurted all over the lace and tulle. "Really?!" A big grin swept over Mrs. Johnson's face. Bridget hadn't talked about ballet for years. She felt a little jealous, knowing that Jason was sharing with Bridget such moments that used to be shared with her. The image of Bridget in her tutu brought back such nice memories. It is wonderful that children grow up, but also kind of sad. Maybe Jason could get Bridget to wear it again for her, and Jim, perhaps even do a fouettés en tournant? Bridget had been so good at that. In any case, she was delighted that Jason appreciated the little ballerina in Bridget. She got down on her knees before Jason, looked up into his eyes, smiled with appreciation and affection. He will make Bridget such a nice husband, and keeping her eyes open, fixed on his, she leaned forward, opened her lips, and drew his cock into her mouth. She so wished that Jim would let her do this for him. It seemed so intimate, so loving, taking a man's penis into your mouth. Could there be a stronger statement of your feelings, your love, than to accept your man's cock into your mouth? With the crown fully tucked and secured within her pouting, puckered lips, she softly licked and tickled his soft, swollen bulb with her tongue. Jason's legs felt wobbly and weak. "Mrs. Johnson," he gasped. Now he knew he would cum soon for sure. He could not last much longer with her doing this. He slowly, respectfully, worked his stiff cock in and out of her mouth, never losing complete contact with her lips, but pulling back so far that only the tip of his dick touched her rosy red lips, and then slowly moving his cock back in so that her lips gradually spread, slipping slowly over the lip, the curve, the rise of his crown, her lips widening as his thick purplish bulb gradually spread them farther and farther open, until it slipped back inside, to be greeted once again by the full, womanly, luscious tongue of Mrs. Johnson, caressing and bathing her boy's bulb with her motherly, nurturing, soft wet tongue. He so much wanted to squirt his stuff onto that tongue and deep into Mrs. Johnson's mouth. Mrs. Johnson pulled back, releasing his dick back into the empty air of the room, a bit of moisture, of spit, trailing behind as it left its warm, wet, soft haven. "Jason," she said quietly, almost whispering. "What position would you like to try?" He had actually been quite happy with the current position, but he didn't feel comfortable suggesting that. Somehow it did not seem his place to suggest to Bridget's mother that he would like to cum in her mouth. That might indeed be assuming too much, not really appreciating his position relative to Mrs. Johnson. There is only so much you should really do with your girlfriend's mother. "Um, well," he considered, realizing what a very difficult and tricky question this was. Even if Bridget were to ask him such a question, he wasn't too sure that he should be entirely honest. It was kind of like asking you what's your favorite movie. For him, it was the original 'Saw.' He couldn't really explain why and he wasn't particularly proud of it, but he sure wouldn't tell Bridget that. He would probably just tell her 'Sleepless in Seattle.' He knew she liked that movie, and he did like Tom Hanks. Of course, that might be too obvious. Maybe he would say 'Dirty Dancing.' Actually, he didn't really like that movie much at all. It was just on his mind right now, for some reason. "Um, missionary, I like it that way." Mrs. Johnson didn't buy that any more than Bridget would have believed 'Sleepless in Seattle.' "Jason, now be honest. You can tell Mrs. Johnson the truth." She added reassuringly, "You can tell me anything. After all, I am almost your mother." That was true. Someday she would be his mother, sort of, and you should be honest with your mother. Well, no, actually, not about things like this. You don't tell your mother your favorite sex position, and you certainly don't tell your mother. But, you also don't fuck your mother, and there was something about being naked with someone that induces greater comfort in being honest and forthright. "From behind," he said, quietly, self-consciously. He always did want to do it that way, and he wasn't sure he would ever be able to suggest that to Bridget. What girl would be willing stick her butt up in the air for you to fuck her, like a dog. "Doggy style, Jason? My, you are a dirty little boy." She smiled as she turned around, got down on her elbows, and raised her bottom up. "Mount Mrs. Johnson, Jason, like you're her big pet doggy." That was an awfully obscene remark, but it was what she was feeling right now. Jason's cock twitched with delight and desire, and he immediately got down on his knees, in between her parted legs, using a hand to lodge his cock at the entrance to her upraised, swollen, steaming cunt. Mrs. Johnson never looked prettier, sexier, or more desirable than she did now. She really did have a very wonderfully taut, round white butt, and his dick slid with considerable force and passion down into her cunt. It was so good, so very, very good. He could smell the rakish scent of her cunt drifting up into his nostrils, feel the soft full cheeks of her womanly butt with his hands, feast his eyes on the sight of her puckered, twitching anus, and feel the grip of her quivering, grasping cunt on his dick. Mrs. Johnson pushed up with her hands to plant them on the floor, rather than her elbows and said, "Bulldog," triumphantly, as if she was a gymnast, demonstrating a different floor exercise position. Jason was not to be distracted. He certainly wasn't going to take any notes at this time (but there sure better not be a test on this later). He pumped and pumped her cunt like a bulldog would, now paying little attention to her wishes, her needs. He was just lost in his desire to give his cock as much rabid stimulation as possible when fucking a woman's cunt from behind, which was an awful lot, particularly if you pound it in and out like a jack hammering club. Mrs. Johnson though was herself swept away in her own lust. She jammed her bottom back to meet each hammer of Jason's cock. She shut her eyes, panted, then murmured, "Oh, Jason, I can feel your balls bouncing against me." It was, however, the puckered, twitching asshole of Mrs. Johnson that had caught Jason's eye. It looked like it was gasping for breath, desperately seeking to be plugged, and he let go of her butt with his right hand to bring a finger to her hole, to firmly touch, caress, and then finger her ass. "Urrrh... oh my goodness, Jason!" She panted a few breaths. "Oh no!" She collapsed, in part because of the harsh pounding she was receiving from Jason, in part because of the finger so intrusively jammed up her ass, but also to take another position. Her knees collapsed, her face fell to the floor, and she slid her hands under her legs to grasp them. "Turtle," she gasped, feeling her head becoming a bit faint, confused, her body trembling with its passion, its arousal, its lust. It was like she was reaching the final stages of her floor routine but did not know if she had enough endurance, enough control, to continue, as she might suddenly climax before she had firmly stuck the last position. She could feel her body beginning to weaken, to tremble, to shiver with the impending orgasm. She fell fully to the floor, her arms bent out in front of her, her breasts pressed against the carpet, and with all the force, determination, and strength a gymnast could muster, she spread out her knees and legs as well, getting them as low to the ground as possible, thereby bringing Jason down as well, forcing him to spread his own legs and essentially get down on the floor with her, his knees spreading out so far, his thighs feeling the strain. "Basset Hound," she announced. "Woof, woof," she barked. And with that playful bark Jason's brain spun as his dick suddenly twitched and exploded into Mrs. Johnson's cunt. Mrs. Johnson felt the young man spray his load inside her, as she was herself swept away by her own orgasm. Jason gasped as he felt his cock throb with each spurt, spraying his cum deep into her cunt. He could even feel the walls and muscles of her quim clenching and squeezing his dick, as if she was milking him, trying to extract more and more of his wet, sticky gism, and he could feel her cunt getting wetter and wetter with each release, the warmth of his cum mixing with the warm wetness of her cunt, their fluids mixing together, blanketing and drowning his cock as he continued to gush his cream deep inside her, so much of it squeezing and spilling out, onto their thighs and the bed. "Oh Jason," Mrs. Johnson gasped, "squirt it all, let it all gush and spurt, fill me up with your hot sticky gism." She said what was on her mind, what was in her heart, her loins, not censoring a bit, lost in the throws of her climax, her body shivering, trembling, and twitching in spasmodic passion. "Oh Jason, fuck me, fuck my cunt, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Mrs. Johnson felt a little guilty that evening. She wondered if perhaps she was going a bit too far with Jason. She began to wonder if she was really doing this for him, or even for her daughter. The fact that she had used such indelicate language was particularly disturbing. She was not that kind of woman, was she? She decided to take a break for awhile. It just didn't seem right. She had to think about this for a bit, make sure she was doing the right thing. A break though was difficult for Jason. Whenever he saw Mrs. Johnson he couldn't help thinking about lawn furniture, about folding chairs, ballerinas, bulldogs, and turtles. His eyes were naturally turning back to her daughter, to his girlfriend, Bridget. Things came to a head, so to speak, a couple of weeks later when Jason was over to the house to watch television with the family. It was "Father Knows Best" night. Mr. Johnson might have the best collection of old television shows. He would always say, "They just don't make them like they used to." Mrs. Johnson would have to agree with that, but not necessarily with the same fondness. Jim had a collection of "The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet," "The Donna Reed Show," "Make Room for Daddy," "My Little Margie" (Mr. Johnson though often found this show a little suggestive and, as such, rather inappropriate), "My Three Sons," and "Leave it to Beaver" (Mrs. Johnson would always smile when Eddie Haskell appeared, and Wally reminded her so much of Jason). Jason Comes to the Back Door In honor of the night, Bridget was wearing her Mary Stone dress (from "The Donna Reed Show") that her mother had made for a costume party in high school. Shelley Fabares played the role of Mary Stone (she subsequently played the wife of Hayden Fox in "Coach"). Mr. Johnson really, really liked Bridget in that dress (Shelley Fabares was awfully cute). The skirt and blouse were a little tight and small on her now, and quite distracting for Jason. The skirt rode up even higher when she was sitting on the couch. The very top of her thighs appeared and, if she wasn't careful, one could get glimpses of her panties. It seemed that a couple of times when she sat or shifted on the couch. Bridget wasn't being the least bit careful protecting her modesty and, not surprisingly, they were pink. Bridget really did like pink. Mrs. Johnson wasn't being much help either. She was wearing a cotton voile sun dress with a cinched waist that was very figure flattering. It was a good few inches above the knees, but what was most appealing, at least for Jason, was that the bodice was really quite tight and plunging, and the spaghetti straps kept falling off her shoulders. They were watching the very first episode of "Father Knows Best:" "Bud Takes Up The Dance." Mrs. Johnson's face turned red when Jim announced the episode. Bud was going to the school dance but he didn't know how to dance. It was a very awkward time for Bud, and a rather awkward episode for Mrs. Johnson. "I almost forgot," Mrs. Johnson announced, "I made lemonade! What was I thinking? My mind has just been off to nowhere the last few weeks. You go ahead and watch the show," she said to her husband, Bridget, and Jason, "I'll be right back." She made a quick exit to the kitchen. Mr. Johnson smiled approvingly and appreciatively. Madeline was no Donna Stone, Margaret Anderson, or June Cleaver, but his little woman did make awfully good lemonade. Soon after she left the room Jason said, "I should go help her. She might need some help with the glasses." "Jason, how very sweet of you," Bridget said, patting him on the knee in appreciation. She smiled at her boyfriend. Jason was so amazingly considerate of her mother. Not too many boyfriends would work so hard to please your mother. It seemed like every time he visited he went out of his way to speak to her, to help her with something, or just to compliment her on a new hairdo or outfit (it was terribly impressive that he even knew when she had a new outfit). Sometimes he even left her just to spend some time with her mother. What boyfriends would do that! "Yea, sure, no problem. I'll be right back." "We'll fill you in on what's happened when you get back," Mr. Johnson promised. "Thank you, sir," Jason replied as he left the room, following Mrs. Johnson into the kitchen. He found Mrs. Johnson only just beginning the process of preparing a fresh batch of lemonade. "Oh, hello, Jason. I guess I hadn't even made any lemonade at all. I'll be done soon. You can go ahead and watch the show." She could hear the sound of Bud falling over onto the bedroom floor, trying to teach himself how to dance, Mr. Johnson chuckling with each fall. "I thought maybe you might need some help, Mrs. Johnson." "Jason, how very sweet of you," she replied, just like her daughter, as the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Mrs. Johnson made her lemonade from scratch, including first heating the water so that the sugar totally dissolves (it often just fell to the bottom of the pitcher if the water is not first heated). "Do you like your lemonade sweet, dear? I can put extra sugar in, if you wish." "No, no, it's fine. I've always liked your lemonade just as you make it." "Well, that's very sweet of you." She smiled pleasantly at Jason as she crushed another lemon in her heavy antique juice squeezer. Jason spoke more softly, "You know what I would really like, Mrs. Johnson is, um, well, um." He couldn't really say it, out loud. "You know." Mrs. Johnson looked away, turning her attention back to her lemons. "Shhhh, Jason. Hush now, Bridget and Jim are just right around the corner." They probably couldn't hear them through the noise from the television, although Jason and Mrs. Johnson could hear dialogue from the show. Jim, on the show, was saying that Bud "had been acting strange ever since he was born." Mrs. Johnson placed another half lemon into the squeezer. Jason strode up to stand behind her, reached around her body, pressed his crotch against her soft round bottom, and grasped through her sun dress both of her equally full squishy breasts with his hands, clutching them like he was trying to squeeze the juice, the milk, out of them. "Jason!" Mrs. Johnson squealed. Jason quickly let go, stepped back, and glanced toward the hallway into the family room. "Everything okay in there?" Mr. Johnson called out. "Yes, yes, dear," Mrs. Johnson called back. "We just spilled some lemonade. Everything's fine." She lowered her voice, hearing the TV Jim and Margaret talking about their blushing Bud taking a girl to a dance for the very first time. "Jason, what on earth were you thinking! You don't just walk up to a woman and grab her bosoms." Jason felt like he was being scolded like a little boy, although not too many young, or even older, boys are scolded for grabbing a woman's breasts. It was more than just a little embarrassing. He meekly replied, "No, ma'am, sorry, ma'am. I don't know what I was thinking." "Well, I think I know what you were thinking. Gracious, Jason! What if Bridget, or Jim, walked in? How would you explain it to them?" Yea, there weren't too many compelling explanations that he could provide. "Um, I don't know." Jason could hear Jim Anderson warning Cathy and Betty to be nice to Bud, as it is a very sensitive time for a young man when he takes a girl to his first dance. Bud certainly did have a problem. What's a boy to do around a daughter and mother who were both so gosh darned sexy? Ladies who seemed to be flaunting their bodies, teasing him so mercilessly. His cock didn't know which direction to turn, but it did appear to be the case that the younger body was likely to be more receptive. Jason didn't know what was going on with Mrs. Johnson, but perhaps this well had gone dry and he was really so terribly thirsty. Mrs. Johnson took a deep breath, the top of her breasts rising up from her bodice. If her breasts were actually liquid they would surely spill over. She sighed. She knew that this was largely her fault. She had been providing a pretty regular drink from her well and it may not be realistic to ask Jason to go without any sustenance for such a sustained period of time. Still, she felt she had really behaved in such a wanton and lewd manner in their last encounter. Her language had been so course and inexcusable. Of course, her language in the final moments of previous climaxes with Jason had also been off color, but she had never gone so far as she had the last time. She felt really very guilty about it, particularly after scolding him earlier, making him wash his mouth out. She should be a role model for the boy. As she heard Jim, the TV Jim, in the next room, discussing with Bud the importance of respecting a girl, she felt really quite inadequate as a mother. "Mother, Jason, what's taking you two so long?" It was Bridget. She had come into the kitchen to find out what was going on. Bridget was ambivalent about "Father Knows Best," as her father would often remind her how wonderful Betty was, that she was a homecoming queen and a class president. It made it difficult at times for Bridget to like Betty, but who couldn't like her, especially in the first few seasons. Bridget also didn't like it when Betty got rid of her pony tail (Eleanor Donahue had cut it off, in protest) and perhaps at times Betty did become a bit too self-righteous and goody two-shoes but still, in the end, Bridget had always been pleased and appreciative when her own father, Mr. Johnson, called her 'Princess' as well. Jason turned to her, slipping a hand into his pocket to grab and hide his erection. Bridget would not mind seeing his erection, handling it, and even kissing it. But, she probably wouldn't appreciate seeing it in the presence of her mother, even if she was dressed so attractively. "Hey Bridget. We're almost finished." "Yes, dear," Mrs. Bridget replied. "You just enjoy the show. We'll be in shortly." "Yes, well," Bridget explained. "I think I better put on a different outfit. I know that daddy likes this one and everything, but it's just too tight and uncomfortable." It was very tight. It looked like the buttons were about to burst from the strain of keeping her boobs hidden, and the skirt was so terribly short, not that Jason would complain. Mrs. Johnson felt that Bridget changing would indeed be a very good idea. Anything to help calm Jason down. "Yes, yes, dear, I think that's an excellent idea. Why don't you put on something more comfortable, a sweatshirt and sweat pants, perhaps." That would be pretty unattractive. "Oh mother, don't be silly," Bridget replied, looking at her like she must be from Mars or something. Why would she wear something like that, particularly when Jason was visiting? "Jason," Bridget said, a light suddenly turning on in her mind. "Why don't you come upstairs with me and help me pick something out?" She thrust out her breasts a bit, to help him decide. She would even be willing to try a few outfits on for him. "Yea, sure," he replied, with considerable enthusiasm. Shopping with your girlfriend as she tries to pick out new blouses, sweaters, and skirts, can be pretty darned boring, and frustrating. But, picking an outfit from her closet, in her bedroom, was a heck of a lot more appealing. It had a lot of potential. Perhaps she might even want to try on a few things for him. Jason was not allowed in Bridget's bedroom when there was nobody home, but as long as Mr. or Mrs. Johnson was present, Mr. Johnson considered it to be acceptable. He knew his daughter wouldn't misbehave when there was parental supervision within the home. However, to be certain, she did have to keep the bedroom door open. That would not, however, deter them at this point. Mrs. Johnson, though, knew that an open door would not be enough to restrain Jason. Goodness, he attacked her breasts right in the kitchen and it didn't even have a door! "Oh no!" Mrs. Johnson asserted, her voice louder and more forceful than one would normally expect in such a context. "I need him here." "What?" Bridget asked. When did mother need anyone to help her make lemonade? Mrs. Johnson reached out, took Jason's arm, the one holding onto his cock in his pocket, and pulled him back toward her. "Jason said he wanted to learn how to make home-made lemonade. You do want me to help you, I mean, help me, don't you?" She looked into his eyes with a very concerned pleading. "Yea, yea, sure Mrs. Johnson," he replied. "I do want to learn about it." "Excellent. Now you run along, Bridget, change your clothes, and Jason and I will finish the lemonade." "Whatever," Bridget replied, her confusion quite noticeable in her expression. She turned and headed back through the family room toward the stairway to her bedroom. Mrs. Johnson breathed a deep sigh of relief. That was close. If her husband only knew what she was doing to help her daughter. She shook her head. Husbands so often fail to appreciate the sacrifices a mother must make for her children. She turned Jason so that he fully faced her, squatted down in front of him, and began undoing his belt and pants. "Alright then, Jason," she said, "We'll have to make this quick." 'Whoa!' Jason thought. This was a bit more than he was suggesting, or at least expecting. "Mrs. Johnson!" "Hush, Jason," Mrs. Johnson implored. She looked up at him teasingly, "We need to be discreet about this." A blow job in the kitchen, with her husband just around the corner, and her daughter possibly returning, was hardly discreet. But, what healthy young man could be expected to turn something like this down? He watched with considerable pleasure as Mrs. Johnson quickly and deftly pulled down his zipper, reached into his boxers and expertly pulled out his half-erect cock. Jason had purposely worn boxers just in case an opportunity, and his cock, would arise, either from Bridget or Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. Johnson's doubts about providing relief for Jason melted away with the sight of the young man's healthy stiffening. It was like some trigger was being flipped, some internal, instinctual switch was being turned on by the sight of swelling cock. She didn't waste any time. There was really none to waste. "Now, be a good boy, Jason, and keep an eye and ear open for Jim and Bridget." She added, "I'll take care of him," and dove her head, her face, down onto his cock, drawing him into her mouth. Jason was in a pretty good position to be lookout. He could see the open entranceway toward the family room, and he would likely hear someone approaching down the short hallway. This was fortunate as Mrs. Johnson was more than preoccupied. He couldn't expert her to do everything. She was quite the woman, being able to "feed the baby, grease the car and powder her face at the same time," but giving Jason a blow job and watching lookout was really asking too much. Besides, she was crouched down behind the counter and lower cupboards, which worked well to provide cover in case anyone did come in. "Mmmmmmmmm," Mrs. Johnson moaned with satisfaction as she felt the boy's penis within her mouth. She could not really understand why her husband found this so distasteful. She thought Jason's penis tasted rather nice, or at least it felt so intimate, so sexy, so naughty to have a guy's penis in her mouth. As she absorbed it into her mouth she applied her tongue to every inch and curve she found, licked, and tasted. Jason quickly grew back to full length within Mrs. Johnson's mouth. He really couldn't tell who was better with her mouth, the mother or the daughter. This would be a rather sensitive question at the dinner table, one for which you would get into trouble no matter what you said. Fortunately, it wasn't really a contest and each had her own special talents, her personal gifts and unique qualities. Mrs. Johnson took after his cock like she was starved for its taste, its manliness, its power. Bridget was more affectionate, like a kitten with an ice cream cone. Mrs. Johnson tried to keep its entire length within her mouth as it grew, even when it reached the back of her throat. She squinched her eyes shut, relaxed her throat, and tried to let it push and grow down into and past her throat. "Glph! Blghh! Eccch!" She suddenly bent over, her gag reflex kicking in, and she had to pull back. She clasped her fingers to her throat, her eyes watering, her left hand reaching out to hold onto the offending weapon. She coughed a few more times, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable sensation in her throat, as if something was still stuck down in there. "Mrs. Johnson! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" Jason quickly checked the entranceway to be certain that nobody was coming then turned his attention back to Bridget's mother. He wasn't too sure what to do. "Do you need a drink or something? Some lemonade?" The lemonade was in fact largely done, the water now sufficiently cooled by all of the ice she had put in, mixed with the lemon juice, both fresh and (she wouldn't admit) some store-bought lemon juice. Jason poured her a little drink and she gulped it down. It did appear to help, although she felt the lemonade could use a bit more lemon, and a little less sugar. But, once her throat was comfortable the lemonade did give her an idea. She took one of the half cut lemons that had not yet been crushed, squeezed some of its juice onto Jason's stiff cock, and began to lick and lap at the now sharp and tart taste of lemon cock. It was actually very nice, as she did so much like the taste of fresh lemon. She resumed her oral ministrations but this time kept the boy's hard penis freshly spiced and flavored. She wondered what other nice seasonings she could try in the future. Jason was beside himself with delight. This was certainly something that Bridget had never done, nor had he himself imagined asking, and he had imagined quite a few things. Leave it to a mother to come up with a new recipe. He instinctively began to slowly, subtly push his cock in and out of Mrs. Johnson's lips as she licked and sucked on her lemon cock, swiftly bringing the boy toward his own delicious serving. "So, how is it going in here?" "Mr. Johnson!" Jason loudly exclaimed, shouting a warning that was a little too late. "Lose something back there?" Mr. Johnson inquired as he headed up to the kitchen counter. Mrs. Johnson at first froze but did not panic. She pulled away from Jason's cock, ripped open one of the lower cabinet doors, and pulled Jason up against it, effectively hiding him from the waist down. She got back up on her feet. "Oh, hi honey, I didn't hear you come in? Are you liking the show?" "I paused it. I'm the only one in there! Isn't anyone else interested? You two are hiding in the kitchen, while Bridget is upstairs admiring her dresses. C'mon, you're missing the best parts." Jason wouldn't agree with that, but it probably was weird for Mr. Johnson to be left there alone, especially when it was family television night. He so hoped though that Mr. Johnson would not see the need to come around the counter and help his wife with the lemonade. "Be there in a second, dear. Here, take a glass back with you." "Well, if it's all done then come on and enjoy the show with me." "Yes, yes, but, um, well, we spilled some of it. I need to clean it up. Spilt lemonade can get so sticky you know." "Oh, I'm sorry. Here, let me help you." "No!" She exclaimed, with unusual force. "I mean, really, no, no, it's alright. Jason will help me and it's really all over the floor here. I don't want you walking on it with your nice slippers and everything. And, besides, Margaret Anderson wouldn't have her Jim help her clean it up. This is woman's work, after all." That was a good point. He did recall Jim Anderson once helping his wife clean a mess in the kitchen, but it was usually Margaret who did the cleaning while Jim enjoyed his newspaper in the den. "Well, alright then, but if you're here much longer you'll miss the entire episode." Mrs. Johnson felt that there was a pretty good chance of that, unless she could get Jason to ejaculate quickly. She was reminded of when Jim would repeatedly come into the kitchen to check up on how dinner preparation was coming. She would repeatedly remind him that the more often he interrupted her, the more often he peeked into the oven or into a pot, the longer it would be. In fact, she reached with her left hand under the counter, into the cabinet to grasp hold of the boy's erection, not only to check that the oven was still on, but to keep the leg of cock cooking. She captured it in her fist and stroked it up and down beneath the counter. Of course, if he came into the cabinet that would leave quite a bit of a real mess to have to clean. Well, she would have to deal with that later. Jason was speechless. There was really something quite surreal about having your cock stroked by your girlfriend's mother while her father is standing right in front of you. It was also a nice way of getting back at this terribly restrictive, even dictatorial father. Apparently though Mr. Johnson did in fact have a good reason not to trust Jason. After all, he was being jerked off by his wife. Still, it would be nice to shoot off right now, literally under his nose, right into his pots and pans, or whatever Mrs. Johnson had stored down there.