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-in-law 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-in-law, 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-in-law 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-in-law. 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-in-law 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-in-law. 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).