The Rambler part 2 - Sex Stories

The Rambler part 2

... fallen behind and the rack had filled so his mom had trouble finding a spot for a bowl. That's when Tim casually took several clean dishes off the rack and put them back in the soapy water. "I don't think you got these clean enough," he said to his mom. His audacity staggered me and from the grin on his face as he related this to me, it was still amazing to him. "What happened?" I asked incredulously, expecting some strong rebuke from his mother or, even worse, a call to his father. "Nothing," he replied, a tinge of surprise in his voice. "She didn't say a thing. She just started washing them again, really slow." "You're k**ding?" "I k** you not," Tim laughed. He paused then, regarded me with a serious look on his face. "What?" I implored, knowing something was coming but with no idea of what. "Come on, give." "That's when I did it," he said, as if 'IT' was somehow obvious. "Did what?" I resented having to pull it out of him, all the while realizing that the effort would increase the value of the prize. "Patted her ass," he revealed. Tim had reached down and lightly patted his mother's skirt several times, allowing his palm to briefly mold over her right cheek, cupping it gently and almost holding it as he leaned toward her to say, "That's better," as if he was the one in charge. I couldn't believe my ears. Evidently, there hadn't even been a small rebuke. His mom, he said, acted as if nothing had happened. So then, after each dish was washed, Tim patted his mother's ass. ...

... It wasn't long, he said, before he simply kept his hand on her butt and massaged her cheek after each dish, ignoring the dishes in the rack and leaving them to dry on their own. When his mom finally finished washing all the dishes, even after he returned several more for re-washing, Tim said he pressed his raging boner against his mom's skirt, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered, "I'll help you with the dishes tomorrow night too, Mom." Tim explained that this continued for the rest of the week. Every night, after his father left the kitchen, Tim and his mother would set about doing the dishes. There was no need to return any dishes to the sink. Millie washed everything thoroughly, taking extreme care to be sure each item virtually sparkled before it was placed in the rack. Tim had so much time between dishes that he found a need to employ both hands, rigorously exploring all of his mother's backside. Eventually, he stood with his boner firmly pressed between his mother's skirted cheeks, allowing the dishes to be placed in the rack while his hands explored her blouse, leaving no inch of its spongy expanse untouched. By Friday, despite progressing to intense stand-up body rubs accompanied by serious ear and neck nibbling, Tim was unable to convince his mother to go to the drive-in with him again, but he did extract a promise, he said, beaming with pride. "What, what?" I cried, in eager expectation, awaiting some magic words to match his radiant features. "She said she'd go ...