Mother Love

At first, blinding unaware of who I was cuddling and still in the throes of a dreamy sleep, my hand, delighted and content to have found this breast, had gently caressed and squeezed it. In fact I'd probably been fondling the breast for several minutes before I even began to wonder exactly whose breast it was I was holding. Worse still, I'd been gently but rhythmically pushing my hard member into the behind of the person I was cuddling.

I remember smiling contentedly to myself as my fingers traced the outline of a hard nipple on the breast under my hand. In fact I was actually in the process of fingering the nipple when the lighting struck. As some semblance of full consciousness began to return, there was an explosion inside my head, and a shock as strong as if I'd been plugged into the mains. Internally my mind reeled, but externally my body froze. One second my hand had been playfully fondling the breast of the person next to me, the next it went as rigid as if it had been turned to ice. In that instant I'd remembered with awful clarity exactly who it was I was cuddling.

Several things happened at the same time. All the remaining cobwebs of sleep disappeared from my brain in a flash, my erection died (it's odd isn't it, just how quickly you can loose an erection), my heart and my breath froze, and my hand became locked where it was, as if it was no longer my own hand anymore.

As I lay there in bed I think all the blood that had rushed from my penis must have gone straight to my face. I felt awkward, embarrassed, and totally mortified - like I'd just been caught masturbating (only worse!). I wanted to instantly pull my hand away from my mother's breast, but it wouldn't move. This was because another part of my mind was telling me if I moved too quickly she'd know I was awake, and being asleep seemed the only possible excuse for such a terrible crime as groping your own mother. After a moment of total panic, I realised I'd have to play-act, that was the only way out. I'd moan slightly, let my hand drop, turn over gently, and pretend to be asleep for another ten minutes or however long seemed appropriate (and the way I was feeling at that moment, fifty years seemed like a reasonable time!).

But before I could act the situation deteriorated dramatically. Mother, who (thank God) seemed to be still asleep, moved her hand and slipped it over mine, and pressed my hand harder against her breast. Horrified, I had no idea what to do. I couldn't just pull my hand away now; I couldn't even drop it from her breast. As I struggled with possible play-acting scenarios to help me escape, the situation got even worse. Mother's hand gently grasped my hand and began to rub it up and down against her breast. As I lay there, breathlessly wondering what on earth I could do, I couldn't help noticing just how hard the nipple under my hand had become. Suddenly, without me realising it, I was also aware that my cock was hard again.

As luck would have it, it was exactly at that moment that mother woke up. Suddenly her hand tightened firmly over mine and pulled it violently away from her breast. With a small cry she spun round in the bed and looked at me. If I'd had the slightest modicum of intelligence I'd have thought to close my eyes and pretend to be asleep, but I didn't, I just lay there looking sheepishly back into her shocked face.

For several interminable seconds we just looked at each other. But even then things might never have happened the way they did if I'd handled the situation differently; if I acted intelligently - and if hadn't felt so guilty.

Why was I feeling guilty?

Well I suppose it's because for just a micro-second before she'd ripped my hand away, the feel of her hard nipple beneath my palm had turned me on. It was stupid, it was crazy, but when she turned to look at me I couldn't quite hide the fact I'd actually been enjoying touching her breast, and just for a moment it showed on my face. She must have known from my expression I wasn't as innocent as I later protested - that and the fact that as she moved away her bottom brushed up against my rock-hard cock!

"Jeffrey ... what are you doing?" she said, alarm clear in her voice.

"Oh ... er ... sorry. I guess I was asleep."

"Asleep?"

"Yes ... I ... er ... must have cuddled up to you without realising it. I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to ... er ...er ..."

As she looked at me I could see quite clearly she didn't believe a word of it.

"I mean," I began. "I mean I wouldn't try to ..."

She stayed silent for a while, staring at me with a strange look on her face. Then she said, "I guess you must be frustrated ... since Katherine went. I guess you're a man ... and you can't help it. But for God's sake Jeffrey, I'm your mother!"

"It wasn't like that Mum, honest it wasn't. I didn't know it was you I was ... cuddling. I didn't know who it was."

"I see. It doesn't matter who you're groping as long as you've got someone to grope. Is that it?"

"No ... no, that's not what I mean. You know it's not."

I felt like I should burst into tears or something, and then she might forgive me, but now that I needed the tears they obstinately refused to co-operate. And so we continued to lay in the bed facing each other, and mother continued to look at me with that odd, half-accusing look on her face.

At length she said, "if you're that desperate, if you need to touch my breasts, don't you think you should at least do me the courtesy of asking first?"

I don't know what I'd expected her to say next, but that one stopped me dead in my tracks. I simply didn't know how to reply. I wondered vaguely if she was getting at me with one of those 'you can't win whatever you say' type questions ... you know the old 'have you stopped beating your wife?' ploy. Whether you answer 'yes' or 'no', you loose either way.

I mean I could say 'sorry', but that would imply I should have asked first, which was crazy. But if I didn't say sorry then it looked like I was happy to grope her without her permission. I needed a sensible, intelligent answer to untangle the situation. I should have said, 'I'm not frustrated. I never intended to touch your breasts. I was asleep and half-drunk, and I'm very sorry'.

But I wasn't feeling very intelligent. In fact I had a dreadful hangover and a splitting headache. My mind was foggy, and my mood was rapidly becoming vexed. Why should I have to defend myself, I thought. It was just an accident resulting from too much whisky. Why should I be given the third degree!?

And so I said something really stupid.

"Oh yes!" I muttered sarcastically. "And if I'd have asked you, you'd have let me touch your tits?"

Instantly I regretted what I'd said, and there was a long silence which rapidly became extremely uncomfortable. Frantically I searched for something to say to retrieve the situation. I was being very rude, and incredibly ungracious to Mother, after all she'd done to try and help me.

"I ..." I began, but mother cut me short with a glance.

"I have to say I'm shocked Jeffrey," she said quietly. "I never thought of you in that way. I always thought of you as a decent upright, self-respecting boy. I know things have been very difficult for you of late, but really ..."

She paused for a moment, and then she sighed.

"However," she said, "if you really need to touch my breasts to make yourself feel better, I suppose I can put up with it. Is that what you want to do?"

I stared at her in absolute amazement. Looking closely at her face I tried to read her expression. It seemed normal and calm, but with just a hint of something I didn't quite recognise. Was she serious, I thought? Was this some kind of stupid trap? What on earth did she mean? She didn't really mean she was happy for me to fondle her breasts ... did she?

"I ... I ...," I mumbled falteringly. Then I stopped and stared up at the ceiling. Finally I said, "I think it's time I got up!" And with that I threw back the covers, leapt out of bed, and made for the bathroom.

V

During the rest of that morning and the early afternoon that followed, nothing further was said on the subject of Mother's breasts. I'd like the say the subject was forgotten and never mentioned again, but unfortunately that's not what happened. I don't know why - maybe I really was frustrated, after all I hadn't had sex in a long time - but I couldn't stop myself thinking about Mother's tits and what she'd said to me, and inevitably this made the situation worse.

I kept finding myself staring at her breasts. I'd be doing something quite innocent - cleaning or something - and Mother would come into view, and I'd suddenly 'wake up' to the fact that my eyes were delicately examining the curve of her chest, almost without me realising it. Somehow the fact I could remember how they felt under my hand excited my curiosity. Once I even caught myself imagining what they'd be like uncovered. Would they sag? Were they still pert? What shape and size was the nipple that had hardened under my fingers?

Inevitably the worse happened.

I guess I'd been idly staring at her left breast for some thirty seconds or so (I think it was while she was cooking lunch), when I looked up and saw she was watching me. Of course I immediately flushed bright red and looked away, but after that she kept her eyes on me, and she caught me several more times during the afternoon giving her tits the once-over. Each time she did I'd flushed and looked away, feeling more and more ashamed of my behaviour.

As the day wore on I became increasingly uncomfortable and sensitive about the subject. I couldn't seem to trust myself not to look at her bust, and I found myself having to make a conscious effort all the time to keep my eyes on her face when I was talking to her. My eyes just seemed to want to drop down to her chest area, like they had a life of their own. It was embarrassing, uncomfortable, and downright awkward. Something was going to have to give.

I though about talking to her about the problem, but I had no idea how to start the conversation. What could I say? "Oh, by the way mum, about your breasts and me groping you this morning. I've noticed you've got a really lovely pair. Did you really mean it when you said I could have a feel?"

Doesn't quite work does it?

How about:

"This is really embarrassing Mum, but I keep finding myself eyeing up your tits. Mind if I take a quick peek to see what they're really like?"

Hmm, I don't think so either!

What I came down to was:

"Mum we need to talk ... about this morning. I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I mean I was asleep and dreaming and I didn't realise it was you next to me. I'd never touch you (at this point I almost added 'without asking', but thought better of it). I simply wouldn't do such a thing. It may be that I'm sexually frustrated, but taking advantage of my own mother ... well I'd just never do that. In reality it was all a terrible accident. I'm so sorry. I really am."

It was late afternoon and we were sitting in the lounge after supper having a (moderate) drink together. Mother was sitting at one end of the sofa, and I at the other end. I'd said these words but couldn't bring myself to look at her as I said them. I was staring at her feet instead, and bitterly aware I was flushing as I spoke.

For a while she said nothing. I could feel her looking at me, even though my eyes were cast down. I must admit I was squirming inside.

Then she spoke.

"It's alright Jeffrey; you don't need to be so embarrassed. I do understand you know. Men ... well men have needs, and sometimes the body tries to fulfil those needs without getting formal consent from the head."

I looked up at her and saw she was smiling that odd smile again. I'm not sure why but I found that look extremely unnerving.

"I've noticed you looking at me today," she went on. "I suppose you can't help it. You were turned on this morning by touching me ... weren't you? And now your sexual instincts have kicked in and you want ... more?"

Something in the way she said this made my cock go suddenly hard. I should have been embarrassed and mortified, by her words, but I wasn't. I was turned on. I quickly crossed my legs, but not before I saw her checking the sudden bulge in my trousers.

Once again I was lost for words.

"So what are we going to do about it?" she said after a pause. "Do you want me to shut up? Do you want me to go? Or would you like to continue this ... er ... conversation?" I started to speak but she stopped me by lifting her hand. I think I'd been going to say something like, 'look, let's just forget about it, OK?'

"Before you answer Jeffery, I want you to consider something. First, I'm an old woman now, and I'm a pretty experienced woman. None of this worries me in the least. Alright I was shocked at first, but the thought of you looking at or touching my body doesn't worry me in the least. In fact I find it quite flattering."

I stared at her in amazement, not believing what I was hearing.

"Second," she went on. "Am I right in assuming you've not thought about Katherine at all today? How long is it since that happened?"

With a jolt of surprise I realised she was right. I'd been so involved in thinking (and worrying) about Mother's chest I'd simply forgotten about Katy. But I was so amazed to realise the pain simply wasn't there anymore, I missed the full implication of what mother had said.

"Yes, you're right," I said. "I haven't thought about Katy at all today. Isn't that strange; it must have been all those tears last night. I guess you've helped me exorcise her from my soul."

"I'm not sure it had anything to do with last night," Mother said softly. "More likely it has something to do with this morning."

I looked up at her sharply, and for he first time I said what I was really thinking. "What do you mean? Where exactly are you ... are we ... going with this Mother?"

In response she smiled broadly at me, and her green eyes seemed to twinkle merrily.

"Well," she said. "I guess that's up to you?"

"Me?" I said with some exasperation. "What do you mean? I'm sorry mother I simply don't understand. You know I didn't really mean to fondle your breast this morning. Now I feel guilty and embarrassed, and I don't know what to do or what to say ..."

"Or where to look?" she added, with a lift of the eyebrow.

"Oh dear God!" I moaned, and put my head in my hands.

Quietly Mother moved across from the other side of the sofa and took me in her arms. She hugged me tight for a moment and gently kissed my cheek.

"It's alright Jeffrey. It really is," she whispered. "You're upset and confused and I guess I'm not making it any easier for you. What I meant was, if touching me helps you to forget your pain, then I don't mind ... I really don't".

I looked up at her, confusion and doubt showing clearly in my eyes.

But then she did something that really shocked me. She took both of my hands in hers, lifted them up, and placed them firmly on her breasts. Then she leaned forward and whispered in my ear.

"Here," she murmured. "Take my tits and have a good grope. It'll make you feel better."

What could I say? What could I do? Except perhaps admit to myself for the first time that I really wanted this. Silently I began to fondle her breasts, and I must admit they felt really good. They were large and firm. I don't know if it was the bra she was wearing, but they felt pert and full. I guess the fact they were my own mother's breasts was also a real turn-on.

As I fondled her, Mother nuzzled up to me, kissing my neck. She seemed totally unfazed by what I was doing. If anything she seemed to be enjoying it, and her kisses were becoming increasingly passionate.

"Is that nice baby," she whispered. "Do you like mummy's boobies?"

VI

Part of me was really enjoying fondling my Mother's breasts, but another part of me was frantically wondering what the hell I was doing and where exactly all this would lead. I felt it was immoral somehow, and yet it was so much more exciting than normal. I mean it's always nice to get your hands on a pair of boobs, and the newer the boobs the better (if you know what I mean), but there was an air of the forbidden here I couldn't remember feeling since I was a kid masturbating to dirty pictures in the toilet. It was wrong, very wrong, and I shouldn't be doing it - but the more I thought about how wrong and dirty it was, the more exciting it became and the more I wanted to do it.

As I got increasingly turned on by the simple fact of knowing this was my own mother I was groping, I began to wonder if she felt as excited about what was happening as I did. How far was she willing to go? Would she really let her own son do it to her? Would she really let him fuck his own mother?

For that matter, did I want to fuck her?

I thought about it and decided on balance I probably did. Somehow after all the pain of the last few months the idea screwing my own mother seemed like the perfect way of forgetting about the past. It was the opposite of all the sloppy passionate love I'd felt. This was wholesome, really dirty sex! If anything could wash away the sorrow and the self-pity, this could.

I guess I was getting pretty turned-on just thinking about it, and before I knew what I was doing I'd found mother's lips and was trying to kiss her. For a moment she held back, and then her mouth opened as I forced my tongue down her throat. It was really strange, but just kissing mum was unbelievably exciting. I mean it was so damn dirty.

As one of my hands's reached up under her sweater to grasp a bra-covered boob, I felt her hand brush against my rock-hard cock. I think I moaned out loud. I certainly leaned against her hand, willing her to take me firmly in her grasp. She got the message and grabbed my cock and began to rub it up and down. Under her sweater my hand pulled at her bra and fumbled at the mountain of flesh that emerged.

The next thing I knew she was biting at my ear, and I could faintly hear her whispering, "you dirty little boy. You dirty filthy little boy. You want to do it to me, don't you? You want to do it to mummy?"

"Oh yes!" I whispered back. "I want to have you mummy ... I want to do you!"

As my lust increased I pushed my other hand up under her sweater and pulled her bra right down. I then lifted the sweater clear and pushed my face into her breasts. They really were big, but I was pleasantly surprised to find they were still wonderfully firm as well, and the nipples pert and relatively small. Suddenly I was totally lost in the act of kissing and sucking at a pair of tits I'd admired for years and years, and yet never actually seen before.

Whilst I was engaged in my incestuous fondling of her bosom, Mother continued to rub my penis through my trousers. She was gripping it tight and rubbing me strong and hard. I hadn't had sex for a long time, and as she rubbed my cock I suddenly realised I was close to orgasm. I tried to pull away, but she wouldn't stop or let go, and before I knew it I had blown my lot in my pants. Moaning loudly I crushed her breasts in my hands, making the most of that wonderful moment of ecstasy. It was only as I let go and rolled away from her I realised she'd deliberately made me cum. Whatever she'd whispered to me a few moments before, it was clear she didn't want to have full sex, and she'd intended to stop me short by making me squirt my stuff before I could go too far.

Inevitably, when it was over I felt embarrassed. I muttered something and went quickly into the bathroom to clean myself up. When I came back she was sitting there, back on the other end of the sofa, as if nothing had happened. I sat down and looked at her, but with absolutely no idea what to say.

"Is that better?" she said with a smile, as if she'd just made me a nice cup of tea.