The Rambler part 2b - Sex Stories

The Rambler part 2b

... at that moment fervently believed it and I loved her for it. Tim may have had the joy of digging right in but his cock couldn't have been as hard as mine at that moment, not without the benefit of the magnificent tease Mom had just executed. She would have made a tremendous flyfisher. Just as that thought flitted across my grey cells, Mom moved her legs, a movement that caught my eyes and dragged them down over her short white skirt to her knees, as far as I could then see. Short white skirt? My eyes retreated a foot. Yes. Mom was wearing a very short, pleated white tennis skirt. God, I stiffened painfully in my jeans. As I looked, Mom's hips lifted slightly and her legs opened, barely an inch, but they parted nonetheless. What an incredible sense of timing she had. My cock hurt. I leaned closer and put my arm tentatively across Mom's waist and gradually lowered it across her tummy. I snuggled into her side. "Ricky?" Mom whispered her affectionate name for me. "Yes?" "Promise you'll be good?" "I promise." Mom smiled, then said, "Please try at least." "I will," I replied earnestly, but she was already turning away to see the movie better, twisting into my arm, lifting her back from the seat. Before moving in to fill the space behind her, I pulled my arm away from her waist and, as surreptitiously as I could, I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, pushing them down to relax the pressure on my poor tool, down until the waistband was below my shorts. Only then did I snuggle into my ...

... mother, replacing my hand around her waist, tucking my arm in until it grazed the bottom of her slightly sagging, mature breasts, wiggling until my hips were lined up behind hers. I kissed Mom's cheek and nuzzled her neck. She turned her head half toward me. "Ricky?" she whispered. "Yes?" "Remember your promise." "I will," I assured her, believing myself. "Good boy." Mom pushed her mouth up, waiting for a kiss. I obliged, our first long, loving kiss of the evening, the first in weeks. A most delicous, memorable taste. When the kiss ended, Mom's left tit, the one closest to the seat, was cupped firmly in my hand, its nipple digging into my palm as if the sweater wasn't there. I braced myself for her reaction, mind searching for a winning response, but Mom simply looked up at me in the darkness. "Did you have a good week?" "What?" she caught me competely off guard, I had no response for such a normal everyday question. "Did you mind helping me this week? With the dishes," she explained further. "No, not at all," I replied lamely. "Good. I like your help." Mom turned her face back to the movie and, at the same time, pushed her bottom back against my underwear, causing an immediate, swelling response. My reactive surge was met with firm, if somewhat spongy, resistance. And despite the quelling efforts of my mind, that unruly bulge made its presence known in sporadic throbs for the rest of the movie. Oh, how I wished I could retrieve my arm to lift that skirt, for I was curious to ...