Unspoken Pleasure (erotica)

I mostly skimmed links to sex stories (many by Mr. Here/MrHereWriting) and actual website entries. Each one that captured my attention said the same thing: Be assertive. Don’t let your golden opportunity go to waste. If your mother was coming onto you, then go after her. Don’t let your mother run away from you, and don’t let the guilt that was bound to set in once she offered herself to you take hold of her soul. Take hold of her soul! That was a bit dramatic–a little over the top–but it also made sense.

Yet, why would I want to test this out?

My cock knew why, but what did a dickhead know?

My fingers danced on my keyboard, not clicking any of the keys, just dancing over them with enough pressure to make the plastic caps rattle and shake. I should have got busy jerking off, but that’s when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

“Yeah,” I called out as I minimized my porn windows, and my heart jumped to a jogging pace.

“I’m going to go downstairs to clean now,” Mom said, speaking through my door. “Just to let you know.”

“Okay.”

How often had I watched my mother clean? How often did she? Up until today, I had never noticed when Mom cleaned the house. I spent most of my time in my room, sleeping until eleven in the morning because this was my summer to relax.

I looked at my clock.

It was ten in the morning.

Holy shit, I had spent about two hours reading incest threads involving moms showing themselves off to their sons. Much of it sounded like bullshit, and I had decided that all of it was bullshit, but still, some of it had sounded like it could be true.

Be assertive.

Maybe I didn’t know how far I was willing to push this, let alone Mom, but a soft voice in my head sang to me with words spun from honey and silk, crooning, Just have one more look at your mother. Why not? She’s a head-turner.

“Why not,” I said to my empty room, and I stood from my desk, having to place my palms on the arms of my chair to push myself up. My body weighed a ton, but up it went, and on legs heavier than I could remember them weighing, I walked downstairs as the tempo of my heart shifted into a higher gear, and then another.

Mom was in the living room, wearing an outfit that I’d never seen her in. Her clothes looked new, and they could have been. She could have bought them yesterday. It’s not like we spent twenty-four hours a day together. She had gathered her long, flaxen hair into a bun, one of those where the hair swirls about itself with neither a beginning nor an ending. She had donned a gray cotton house shirt that hugged her body and molded to her breasts, emphasizing their softness and shape while detailing her small waist and long, graceful arms. While the shirt had caught my attention, it was her shorts that had made my heart shift into a higher gear yet again.

These were dance shorts, and I knew my mother had danced once upon a time, mainly from grade school through college, and then just for fun. They were black and small and high-tied along her sides so that they angled downward from her hips to her crotch and her ass. They had loose leg holes, and because of their smallness, I could see the hint of my mother’s ass cheeks, their very bottoms. Just a line of them, but that was enough to get my pecker going.

Wow.

From that line, her long legs, with a hint of muscle curving her thighs and hamstrings, descended into her calves and down into her tennis shoes, where I could see the white rims of her ankle socks. Her legs looked longer than normal–and they were already long–but that was because her shorts rode upward toward her hips. Fuck me, but my mother’s swan-like body looked yummy.

How far was I willing to push this?

I took a deep breath and said, “Hey,” before I left the stairway and walked into the living room.ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

“Hey,” Mom said, smiling at me from where she stood by the living room windows, opening up the heavier curtains, but leaving the transparent curtains closed. “I’m going to clean now, but you can just relax and watch TV. I won’t bother you.”

“Sure,” I said, my cheeks reddening the moment I saw a light shade of pink blossom across my mother’s face. It was like watching the sunrise, and I had to control the sound of my next breath as I filled my lungs with air. “I’ll just sit.”

“Okay,” Mom said and turned away from me to run one of those handheld, static dusters over the shelf on the left side of the TV.

I crawled over the back of the couch, grabbed the remote that lay on the center cushion, and turned the TV on, flipping through channels right away. Mom kept her back to me. I took in the smoothness of her legs and the cusps of her cheek bottoms, where they joined the backs of her thighs. Could I see her cheeks, or was I just imagining it? When Mom pushed herself up to her toes, her shorts lifted just enough to give me that small glimpse of ass flesh my cock was tingling to see.

I say my cock because my cock stiffened when I was positive that Mom was giving me glimpses of her cheeks. I moved on the couch, pushing myself into the corner between the armrest and the backrest, lifting my feet onto the cushions, and pulling my knees up to hide my bulging shorts.

Let her see.

I shook my head, and yet I had let her see me in the kitchen, but I had done that without much thought. Still, that let her see whisper gave me goosebumps, and Reddit had said to be aggressive.

Stop your fucking thinking, I thought.

Mom dusted the top shelves next to the TV and then the middle, then she backed up and started dusting the shelves and picture frames that were level with her thighs. She was dusting, but not really. Her arm moved, and so did her wrist and the duster, but the fibrous, Q-tip-like end only glided over the picture frames and various pieces of art that Mom had collected during her lifetime.