Tempted by Tanlines Pt.1 - Sex Stories

Tempted by Tanlines Pt.1

... "You might have taken it up at uni." I watch her lean in to pick up the glass. She glugs half the contents and then tops it off it off. "What's up?" I ask, concerned, the fact she asked for a smoke a clue of just how upset she is. My mother took up the habit during the crisis with dad, but gave it up when her fitness jag started. The epithet confirms her anger when my mother spits her reply: "That fucking wanker, that's what." I'm at a loss for what to say next. I don't like emotional scenes; I feel uncomfortable and embarrassed and usually avoid any awkwardness, opting for a sweep-it-under-the-carpet attitude. But she's my mother, and there's nobody else to help. "Uhm..." I begin, going to the fridge for a beer. Hoping she'll say no, I tentatively ask, "Want to talk?" "It's over," she says, face stricken, her tone tugging at me. My mother looks at me and blurts a brittle little laugh. "The wanker's been two-timing me," she adds, shaking her head like she can't believe his cheek. "He knows how much I hate lying and cheating." Her arms wave and wine spills when she gesticulates wildly. "The one fucking thing ... And he does it!" I follow my mother out of the kitchen. She's grabbed the bottle and stalked away, the F-bomb a real cause for concern. I know there's no going back for her now. If he's done the dirty on my mother, he's history. Just ask my dad. I know I should feel bad for her, and I do, but there's also a chuckle of delight at the back of my mind. Inside my head a ...

... sing-song voice celebrates: It's over; he cheated; she dumped him. When I get to the living room she's already shrugging off her blouse. My mother is muttering away, threats coming through teeth clenched with her rage. My cock thickens despite my concern when I see my mother's wobbling breasts, her nipples and areolae exposed, the weighty orbs cantilevered over a quarter-cup bra. It's the same effect as the tan lines. I'm hard and fantasising as she unzips the skirt and gives a little shimmy to get it down past her hips. It's devastating seeing her like that. She's down to her underwear but still in the shoes. I look at her and feel a visceral pull, gulping down on the desire to go maul at her tits. It's all I can do to stop myself hauling my hard-on out into view as lust surges inside me. "Mum," I gurgle. "Wuh-what are you doing?" Wild-eyed and rabid with rage she shrieks, "I hate wearing clothes! "I'm sorry," she adds with a gasp. "I didn't mean to yell at you like that." "Duh-do you have to strip in front of me?" I ask, stammering because the view is so sweet and I want her to stop before I do something stupidly reckless. But, also, I don't want her to stop. I want to stare at her nudity and crank at my cock 'til it spits. I'd timed my outburst perfectly -- or not, depending on your point of view. My mother ceases her vehement undressing to regard me square on, fists on her hips. She's still wearing the bra and the knickers and shoes, her eyes flashing fire. "It's hardly a ...