Albert was sitting in front of the living room TV when his mother came home from her date. She glanced at him suspiciously as she stepped in the front door closing it behind her. “Were you waiting up for me young man?”
The sixteen-year-old looked down at his lap sheepishly and smiled. “Sort of,” he replied honestly.
Moura laughed and ambled behind him ruffling his hair playfully. “Worried about me Honey?”
“Well Jeez Mom, there’re a lot of crazy’s out there and it’s past midnight. Besides, I don’t trust that Dave guy.”
“And why not?” she asked stepping around sitting in the sofa next to him.
“I just don’t like the way he looks at you, like he’s mentally undressing you.”
“I hope he’s got a good imagination because that’s about as far as he’ll get,” she said grinning. With that, she unbuttoned her Pierre Cardin jacket and removed it tossing it on the sofa.
Albert’s eyes almost popped out of head as he glimpsed at his mother in her dress. “You went out in public like that?”
“Sure did.” she replied self-assuredly With that, she stood up modeling it for him. She pirouetted gracefully. “Like the dress?”
The boy choked as he attempted to speak. “Well … well yea but Mom! It’s awfully … revealing.”
“Oh, you find it offensive? Well I haven’t worn this outfit since your father and I split up and it does a world of good for my ego.” She walked over to a large full-length mirror hanging in the entrance-way and studied her image critically. “And I’d say I still look pretty damn good in it.” It was true. The skimpy party dress could not possibly look more sensational on any woman than it now looked on Moura Pinelli. A singular knockout from the time she was fifteen, by some standards, she was even more beautiful now at age forty-two.
Her deep olive skin was still rich and supple and hadn’t yet begun to betray her years. Her face still retained its angelic features: a decidedly classical nose, full ruby-red lips and smooth gently contoured cheekbones. Her lush, almost pitch-black hair framed her face elegantly, barely touching her shoulders.
Moura’s revealing dress, more than did justice to her spectacular, curvaceous body. It was as black as her hair and was composed of tight spandex that clung to her body like a second skin. It was held up on her shoulders by two spaghetti straps and plunged downward forming a strikingly immodest décolletage.
Her ex-husband had always said that Moura’s body deserved a solid x-rating. It still did. She was five foot six inches and all woman. Her waist was slim and compact. Her hips flared out gracefully, tapering to a beautiful pair of well-muscled legs.
Her most startling feature however, was a chest that never ceased to arouse and beguile men or to fill women with envy and suspicion. It was always a woman that was the first to assume that her chest was less than natural. But Moura, since adolescence, basked in the knowledge that her ample gifts were God-given.
Albert gazed in quiet rapture at his mother as she stood before him. Her splendid, firm breasts swelled shamelessly forward. The hard points of her nipples clearly outlined in the material confirmed that she was braless.
Her hemline rose some six or seven inches above the knee revealing her lovely, sculpted legs. Moura’s black stiletto heels rounded out her bold look, a look not lost upon her son.
Seeing his mother clad so sensually was an eye-opener for the boy. Of course he knew that she was attractive. But moments like this made him fully appreciate just how beautiful a woman she was. He could not help but stare.
As Moura strode confidently back to the sofa she smiled at her son. And yet she detected something different in the way he was looking at her, something she had never seen or noticed before. Her own son had the look, the look she had been eliciting from men all her life.
She sat down on the sofa and gazed back at him. Her mind wandered. She thought of his remoteness, his lack of friends, his lack of a social life. Rather short (only five-foot-four) and slender and nondescript, he wasn’t the sort of boy who stood out in a crowd. Albert had wavy brown hair that occasionally became quite unruly. His eyes were brown and large and always appeared somewhat tentative. His lips were thin and betrayed an image of indecisiveness. He had appeared to develop well through his adolescence. But how could she truly know the thoughts of her only c***d, a boy who was becoming a man? Albert meant everything to her. She had raised him virtually alone. Certainly, her ex-husband supported them generously in a purely financial way. Their large, ostentatious home was a testament to this fact. But he never saw his son, never evidenced the slightest interest in him. And the message was not lost on the boy. Shy, awkward, a lackluster athlete, despite his obvious academic brilliance, he simply wasn’t worth his father’s time.
As she sat next to him, she wondered what he was thinking. He’d never had a girlfriend. She had always assumed that he simply wasn’t yet interested. Now, as she observed the way he looked at her in her sexy outfit, she felt otherwise. It seemed clear that this provocative display of her extraordinary sexuality had unmasked strong, previously unsuspected thoughts. This observation filled her with sadness but also with exhilaration. Did she really excite her own son? The mere thought sent her heart racing.
Though not one to admit it to others, in truth, Moura was intensely proud of her physical beauty. She went to great length to both cultivate and advertise it. She exercised religiously with a gay body-builder who came to her house four times a week to serve as her personal trainer. He emphasized body sculpting with an aggressive weight training program designed to slenderize but not overmuscularize her physique. In public, she often attracted the attention of admiring males not to mention that of jealous females. Such attention often manifested itself with voiced comments but just as frequently was evidenced with a shy smile, an averted glance or occasionally, mindless staring. Two years ago, a car crashed into a lamp post while the driver was leering lasciviously at her. While not injuring anyone, the incident had definitely appealed to her sense of vanity.
Albert was the love of her life. Circumstances had brought them closer together than any mother and son could expect to be.
Being so overwhelmingly devoted to him had left her little emotional energy to address her own need to be cherished, to be adored … to be desired. That the product of her loins could conceivably view her as an attractive, sexual being was nothing if not intoxicating, a possibility she had never entertained.
Suddenly, she had an irresistible desire to know.
“Honey … What are you thinking?” she queried.
She looked him directly in the eye. “Really,” she implored. “Deep down, what are you thinking?”
“Gee Mom, I don’t know.” He turned sharply away.
“Do you think about girls much?”
“Christ Mom! Why do you ask?”
“I’m just curious. I just wonder if you think about girls a whole lot more than I’ve ever imagined.”
“Well Yeah I think about girls.” he replied exasperated. “Why wouldn’t I?” He looked down to his lap somewhat embarrassed.
Moura raised her arms up overhead and sprawled backwards in the sofa. She thrust her shoulders back causing her large breasts to jut powerfully outwards. “I’m just curious Honey.” The boy looked up at his mother as she lay before him on the sofa. He sighed audibly as he gazed at her flawless form. “I do … sometimes.” An edge came over his voice.
Moura remained motionless. His sigh was not lost upon her. Its implications caused her to shudder with anticipation. She ran her fingertips through her hair. “When you think about them, what comes to mind?”
“What do you mean?” he responded, puzzled.
“You know, do you think of going out with them, of being with them, what?”
A frustrated scowl came over the boy. “Jeez Mom, I don’t know.”
She smiled. “Sure you do. They’re your thoughts. Do you ever think about their shapes, their bodies?”
“But only sometimes,” she said playfully. The boy smiled uneasily.
Moura rose to her feet. She walked nonchalantly towards the mirror again. She stood before it peering at herself. Without averting her gaze from her full-length reflection, she spoke again. “Have you ever thought about my body.”
“Well I don’t dwell on it, but you’re kind of hard to miss Mom!”
Still avoiding eye-contact she asked him again, her voice remarkably well-modulated. “Do you ever find yourself checking me out if, for example, I’m wearing something a little revealing around the house? Do you ever think, ‘Mom’s kind of hot’? You can tell me.”
At this point, Albert was getting somewhat embarrassed.
She turned around and leaned backwards against the mirror placing her hands behind her back. Now looking at him squarely in the eye, she said nothing. The silence between them was charged. Their conversation had gone in a direction for which there was no return. Feelings and sentiments might be revealed that could never be submerged again. She could see beads of sweat form on her son’s forehead and she knew that he was as ambivalent and as excited as she was. “I’m your mother, but I’m also a woman.”
Albert twirled his hair uncomfortably, unable to look up at her. “Of course you’re attractive Mom. But I don’t think about your body.”
“But it would only be natural for you to. Lots of boys think about their mothers that way. It’s quite normal.” She paused carefully. “Maybe you’ve imagined me say … taking a shower?” The boy glanced up at his mother as she leaned back provocatively. “Huh Albert? Do you ever imagine the hot, steaming water running over me … over my nude body, me lathering myself, touching myself. With all those hormones running around in you. It’s only natural that sometimes you might think of me in ways that are … less than innocent.”
“I don’t Mom!” he responded defensively.
“I see. So if I said ‘Honey, I just bought this little negligee, and I’m wondering if I look OK in it. You wouldn’t be interested in checking me out in it and offering up an opinion?”
“That would be a little too personal mom, don’t you think?”
“Well it just so happens that I’ve got a very sheer little teddy that you might like to see me in. How about it? Care to see your mom in a somewhat different light than you’re accustomed to?”
“What?” he responded incredulously.
“I think you heard me,” she said laughing. “I admit my dress is rather immodest but the negligee I’m thinking of modeling for you won’t leave much to the imagination. Wouldn’t you like to see how your mother’s body looks in it?”
“OK Mom. I guess I would.”
“All right then!” with that, she turned and slowly headed up the stairs to her bedroom. “Don’t go away,” she said over her shoulder as she disappeared.
He leaned back in the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. ‘What in God’s name was she up to?’ he thought. What had he gotten himself into? He wasn’t quite sure but he found himself incredibly anxious. He also found himself equally exhilarated. He contemplated his mother’s words: ‘It would be only natural for you to think about me in ways that are … less than innocent.’ Of course he could not admit this to her, but seeing her this evening raised had raised feelings that were anything but innocent. He shook his head. And he waited.
At last, after several tense minutes, he heard his mother emerge at the head of the stairs. He was surprised to observe that she was now wearing a silk dressing gown with a bright Japanese print. Albert glanced down inadvertently at her legs as they pushed transiently through the fold of her belted gown when she walked down. He noted that she was still wearing her high heels. Moura smiled at him. “Let’s see if you can really avoid thinking about my body!”
Albert had a nervous, frozen smile on his face. Before the boy could bring himself to speak, his mother undid her sash. Slowly, sensually, she parted the flaps of her gown. Albert gasped involuntarily. “Shit!” he cried as he beheld the shocking sight before him. It was as though he had just been struck by a sledgehammer.
He had never seen a woman dressed in a negligee, certainly not his own mother. Moura boldly held the robe wide-open allowing her son to peruse her incredible figure.
Moura’s lingerie was nothing if not dramatic. A simple teddy, its thread-like straps rested upon her bare shoulders. It barely covered the voluptuous woman’s essentials and extended down barely below her wide maternal hips. Its black but exquisitely sheer material made her appear almost nude. The perfection of her flawlessly shaped breasts was shamelessly and stunningly revealed from within the diaphanous material. Her deep pink nipples, strikingly erect, were clearly visible along with their pink, expansive aureole.
Albert was uncomfortably aware of the faint outline of the small black triangle of dense hair that guarded the precious feminine essence residing between his mother’s lovely thighs. The overall impact of this incredibly erotic assault of his senses was greatly heightened by the stiletto heels his mother was still wearing.
Moura proudly allowed him to peruse her body. Her arms still outspread, she descended the last step of the stairway to the living room floor. She pulled her robe back over her shoulders and let it fall gracefully to the floor. She enjoyed the obvious sense of rapture in her son. “Albert,” she cooed softly. “Did you ever think you’d see your mom dressed like this?” She placed her hands upon her hips posing for him. The boy said nothing.
She pulled her shoulders back thrusting her chest forward. As she did so, she noticed his gaze linger over this aspect of her anatomy. She smiled pleasantly. “Do you like them?”
“Like what?” he replied embarrassed and not at all convincingly.
Moura turned her head sideways looking at him askance. She said nothing.
Albert paled in her silence. “Like what?” he repeated c*****g on the words knowing full well what she was referring to.
His mother drew her fingers ever so lightly over her bosom. “These Albert, you’re staring at them.”
The boy tried to speak but no words came out. Moura smiled encouragingly. “It’s okay Albert. You can be honest tell me. You like your mother’s tits don’t you?”
Albert looked down to the floor. he nodded somewhat abashed.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” she beamed. “I’m so proud of them. If I wear something low-cut out in public, you’d be surprised how difficult is to get men to look me in the eye!” He looked up amazed at her pronouncement. She gazed back at him. “But I don’t mind. Sometimes it’s fun.” She turned away from him and faced her mirror. Moura giggled. She faced him again and he looked up at her. “Well go ahead and look Honey. That’s why I put this on! I wanted you to appreciate what a wondrous thing a your mother’s body is.” A serious affect swept across her face. “In fact, I’d even take this off … if you’d like.” She smiled innocently.
Albert was speechless, not quite believing what she was offering to do. “Come on Albert,” she chided. “Would you like to see your mother completely nude? That’s something a boy doesn’t get to see that often!”
“I guess I would.”
“Don’t be getting too enthusiastic,” she chided gently. “If you want it, you have to tell me.” Resolutely, the boy gazed directly into his mother’s eyes. “I’ve always wanted to see you naked,” he said softly, but clearly.
Moura nodded approvingly. “Albert, I’m delighted to hear you say that.” With that, she reached both arms down to the hem of her negligee, grabbed it and in an smooth, deliberate motion, drew the garment slowly up over her head. Her firm globes bobbed impressively from the motion but came instantly to attention, their erect nipples pointing almost threateningly at the boy. She tossed her negligee over her shoulder and stood proudly before her son clad only in her stiletto heels.
Albert rose up from the sofa. His eyes grew wider than Moura had ever seen. He surveyed her breath-taking beauty from head to toe. “Mom, you’re so … awesome.”
His mother beamed and walked over to him. At last, she was perhaps two feet from her son. Being several inches taller and still wearing her heels, she looked benevolently down upon him. “Thank-you Albert. I appreciate that.”
Albert’s mind was exploding. Nothing like this had ever happened in his young life. His senses were overloading. He looked straight across at her breasts, utterly in awe. Noting this, Moura placed her hands upon her hips. She pulled her shoulders backwards ever so subtly. No action could have more directly focused her son’s attention to these precious assets.
Then suddenly, as though mesmerized and not in control of his actions, he reached both hands out, palms up. Ever so lightly, he placed one under each breast, gently caressing their undersides with his fingertips while beholding them reverently. Moura remained motionless, her hands remaining at her hips as her son did so. Then suddenly, with the realization that he was touching his own mother’s breasts, he jerked his body backwards and looked up into her eyes. A look of sheer agony over what he had just done swept over his face.
For her part, Moura simply smiled. She immediately sensed his shame. She reached her own hands out and lightly clasped his cheeks drawing his face to within inches of her own. “It’s all right Albert,” she whispered reassuringly. “It’s all right.”
His eyes still looked on hers. “I can’t believe I did that! I don’t know why…”
Moura laughed. “I do, they were sticking right in your face.” She paused, “You couldn’t help yourself.” Moura smiled pensively. “But you know, that’s the first time they’ve been touched in a long time. It felt … nice!” Then, setting in motion something that was more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced, she pulled his face to hers. Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips firmly to his. She kissed him gently at first but with increasing passion. She could sense unequivocally that the passion was mutual. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she lowered her hands downward and while maintaining her kiss, reached out and gently took his. She brought his hands upwards to her chest and boldly placed them, one at a time, upon each of her large, magnificent breasts.
Albert’s mind was on fire. The hideousness of what he was doing with his mother was flashed fleetingly in his brain completely pushed aside by the awesome pleasure of the moment. His senses were awash with the experience before him. He felt his mother’s tongue ease it’s way slyly into his willing mouth. Impulsively, he sucked on it and caressed it with his own tongue. He kneaded the large mounds of his mother’s exquisite breasts feeling their firm flesh come alive in his small, sweaty hands urged on by his mother’s strong overlying hands. He paid homage to her nipples twisting the hard caps gently in his fingers.
Suddenly, he felt her hands on his shoulders. Abruptly, Albert almost tripped as he lurched backwards propelled by his mother’s sudden push. Surprised, he looked up at his mother standing before him wearing nothing more than her stiletto pumps. His eyes went wide as they caught those of his mother.
She spoke, evenly, deliberately: “I think that it’s time for you to strip for your mother,” she said. “I want to see your naked body.”
The steadfast look in her eyes frightened him and he began to comply as if completely under her control. Embarrassed, he rather clumsily pulled off his T-shirt revealing his underdeveloped, hairless chest. Moura watched fascinated.
Albert started to draw his gym shorts down his legs. Quickly he stepped out of them. He then stood in front of his mother, not knowing what to do next.
“The underwear Honey,” she said pointing.
Slowly, as though it were the most difficult thing he’d ever done, he pulled his briefs off his youthful loins. His penis sprang to view as hard and as erect as he’d ever known it to get. Exposing this most private aspect of his physique to the attentive gaze of his mother thrilled him in a way he’d never imagined. The briefs then followed his gym shorts to the floor. He was utterly naked before his mother.
Moura gazed at her son’s male organ in rapt fascination. She’d not seen it since Albert was very young. Now, seeing it all grown up, hard as a rock and surrounded by an impressive crop of dark, curly hair was an incredible sight for her. She had to smile. “Very nice Albert. Your father was quite large down there. But I’d have to say your cock is even bigger!” she exclaimed pointing. At that moment, she knew that she had to have him.
She looked up into his eyes. “I’m very proud of you Honey. You’re becoming a beautiful young man!” she said with the obvious feeling of a mother to her son.
Then she walked up to him and caressed his shoulders. “You want me so badly … You need me so much!” She took his hand in hers. “What woman could deny her son something he needs so terribly?” she whispered lovingly. Gracefully, she led him slowly up the stairway. Albert, in a captivated daze, followed her blindly his marvelously erect penis bouncing as he walked.
Moura took the almost ashen young boy into her bedroom. She walked over to the bed and, sprawled out languidly on her back, her thighs parted slightly, her shoes remaining on her feet. She raised up her arms and beckoned her son. The sight of her glorious body awaiting him on the bed thrilled him. Was this the end that he’d wanted all along? To make love to his own mother? To fuck her maternal cunt with his own burgeoning tool? Her powerful breasts rose and fell with each heavy breath she took. The lovely globes invited him to touch and fondle them. His mother’s flesh quivered imploring him to make her splendid body his own.
He felt weak, almost nauseous with excitement. At last, he approached her. She looked up adoringly at her young son who she was about to turn into a man. Gently, tentatively, he drew up on top of her. The slender boy mounted the stunning work of masterpiece that was his mother’s body. Any man would k**l for the opportunity to reside between her firm, strong thighs as he himself was at this moment. His penis was on fire as it brushed lightly over the side of her leg and for a fleeting instant, against the moist, swollen lips of her cunt.
Moura reached forward and clasped the hard, hot organ respectfully with her hand. To feel the essence of her son’s manhood throbbing in her fingers astonished her and filling her with wonder. She looked up at her son looming overhead. She smiled and slowly, carefully guided his cock into her awaiting cunt. At first, the tip of his glans pushed lightly between her labia. A thin, sticky sheen of pre-cum lubricated his flesh as she worked it into her cunt. She gasped momentarily at the sensation of a man penetrating her pussy having not experienced it for so long.
Albert closed his eyes. His mind was on fire as he felt the psychic agony of penetrating his own mother. He knew how utterly wrong it was but his body urged him on remorselessly. The sheer pleasure was too much to overcome. Instinctively, he weighted his pelvis driving his cock into her bit by bit, inch by inch. It had never seemed harder to him. It was as though she’d turned him into iron. The pleasure was incredible.
He opened his eyes and looked down at her. Moura’s expression of rapt ecstasy as he drove into her was not lost on the boy. He marveled at the intense pleasure his cock was rendering to his mother. It made him feel powerful and potent and good. He felt his body fall into a gently rhythm as he began thrusting deep into her. And then, harder and harder he pumped. He felt her own willing loins thrusting in perfect synchrony.
Moura began moaning, softly at first and then louder. She was almost in tears of grateful pleasure when at last she began panting. Her body jerked dramatically at the intense feelings her son was eliciting. Her eyes went glassy. At least she screamed in agonizing rapture. Her paroxysm spread to Albert who felt a searing heat blast through his loins and propagate throughout his body. He pounded his big cock into her over and over grunting uncontrollably. At last, he exploded. He could feel his cock pumping semen into his mother, again and again. His mother’s thrusts became violent, wracking her body and then, for the two lovers … release. Albert collapsed on his mother as they both came. His head fell to her breasts. A hard, erect nipple pushed into his mouth. Instinctively, as he must have so many years ago, he licked it and sucked it deriving strength from the symbolism that issued from it.
For Moura, her orgasm, the most powerful one she’d ever experienced was followed by a wonderful calm such as she hadn’t felt in years. She was radiant as she looked up at the ceiling cradling her son’s head at her bare breast. A smile came to her lips as he sucked. At last, he fell blissfully asleep in her arms. ‘What a loving son,’ she thought. ‘And what a wonderful cock he has!” At that, she kicked off her stiletto pumps and promptly joined him in sleep.