Unspoken Pleasure

Dad mumbled something as I rose and turned to my left, hiding my semi-inflated sausage from his eyes in case he turned his head to watch me walk across the couch. Instead, I walked behind my couch, alongside the foyer, and down the narrow hallway along the stairs that cut across the living and dining rooms straight into the kitchen. I found Mom standing against the inside of the kitchen island, sipping on wine. I noticed that I could hear the faint sounds of the TV from where we stood.

“What are you doing?” Mom asked, her voice stern, and her eyes narrowed in a glare that I could only call petulant.

“What am I doing?” I asked, keeping my voice low though I probably didn’t have to. “What are you doing?”

“Mark–”

“I know what you’re doing. You’re–”

“Don’t say it–don’t say it–don’t say it,” Mom said like a jackrabbit thumbing its food and shaking her head as her glare deepened.

I kept my mouth shut. We stared at each other. Mom’s expression softened as I did my best to remain neutral. I didn’t want to blow this.

She sipped her wine.

I watched, then I asked, “Can I have a sip?”

Mom, who had never allowed me a drink before, handed me her half-full glass. I took a long drink, not enjoying the spicy flavor, but I drank it anyway, then handed the nearly empty glass back to her. She refilled it, and we stood there, staring at each other in silence.

“Mom,” I finally said, “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

Mom flinched.

“I know you think it’s for the best, but look at me.” I looked at my semi-hard cock that was already coming back to life as my mother dropped her gaze downward. “Is this what you wanted? To give me a–”

“Don’t say it,” Mom said, her eyes lingering before returning to my face. “Don’t say anything. Just”–she licked her lips, her face tight, almost frowning–“just accept it.”

“I can’t just accept it,” I said, frowning. “It’s driving me crazy. I need to see Jenna more than ever now because of you.”

“Mark,” Mom said, letting my name hang in the air.

“Look what you do to me!” It was a harsh whisper that I gave her–an accusation. “Look.”

Mom looked down again to where my cock had hardened fully. Her eyes widened a bit, and her cheeks reddened. She moved her head backward. When her eyes returned to my face, I said, “I know you mean well, but this isn’t enough. I’m seeing Jenna tomorrow.” I shrugged, knowing that a helpless, I’m sorry, expression shimmered across my face. “I have to.”NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

I turned to leave.

“Mark,” Mom said, her voice sharp. “Wait.”

I turned around, facing her again, and watched as she finished her refill of wine. She set her glass on the island’s marble top, and then she lowered her hands to her skirt. My heart stuttered, then jumped into a sprint. She grabbed the hem of her tennis skirt and inched it upward, taking her time, the tops of her thighs brightened by the light.

My vision narrowed, focusing on my mother below her waist.

She stopped just below the bottom of her muff, only for a second before continuing upward and showing me a pair of small, white panties. They were nothing more than a tiny triangle covering her inner lips and mound, leaving so much of her tender labia exposed that I sighed aloud. Her sun blonde pubic hairs reached above the low-slung waistband and sprouted from beneath the sides of her small strip of panties. I didn’t fail to notice the darker shade of dampness below the outline of her clit.

“I have more,” Mom whispered. “Lots more. Panties that your father has never seen me wear. I can wear them for you, and only for you, if you don’t fool around with Jenna.”

“Mom,” I whispered, my insides deflating as I stared at her muff.

“I mean it.” Mom swallowed, her voice trembling and her tits rising and falling as though she were sprinting. “I can wear them and a shirt for you every day while your father is out of the house.”

“Mom–”

“You can take pictures and videos, for when you’re alone,” Mom said, panting. “Just don’t fool around with Jenna. Please!”

Jesus, I thought she was about to cry.

“Whenever Dad is out of the house?” I asked, my throat tight. “You promise?”

“Yes,” Mom whispered.

It took forever before my lips moved, but I managed to croak out the word, “Okay,” before Mom could say anything else to convince me to agree to her demands.

“Okay,” Mom said, her voice trembling.

“Mom,” I said, “I don’t know how long I can hold out. I mean”–I swallowed, and my voice started to tremble–“you’re not a normal-looking woman. You’re”–I shook my head–“perfect.”

Mom lowered her skirt.

We stood in silence, and I realized that she wasn’t going to speak. I nodded before leaving, and I went up to my room, where I took my dick out and came, then came again, then came one more time before going to bed without sending Jenna a picture of my cock. I had honestly forgotten to send her one.

***Panties and a Shirt***

I woke early the next morning, but I stayed in my room, watching the clock on my phone strike eight, then a minute after, then another, until five minutes had passed, then another five and then another five. During that time, the mechanical growl of the garage opening told me my father was leaving for work, but still, my mother was going to be in her panties and a shirt for me–all day long. I couldn’t wait, yet my nerves hit me, and they hit me hard.

The beating of my heart went from calm, unfelt throbs to a rapid, skipping pace, like a cymbal’s rounded edge vibrating after receiving the battering of a drumstick. Goosebumps sprouted across my forearms while my small hairs stood on end, bringing with them a chill that caused my shoulders to dance. Little pinpoints of fuzzy lightness danced over my skin, making my palms and the soles of my feet sweat. Disgusting. My breathing rose, every inhale whistling through my nostrils and thickening in my ears, forming a gelatinous cushion between my eardrums and the outside world.

Holy shit.

I needed to get in the moment.

The first thing I did was leave my room, speed-walk to the restroom, and turn on the cold water to full blast. Breathing hard and anticipating the chill, I jump in, the water hitting the outermost edges of my body before the rest of me followed, stepping under its jetting streams and tightening up as the freezing liquid constricted my nerve endings.

Holy shit!

That was dumb, but it did the trick.

By the time I had dried off and dressed in a T-shirt and basketball shorts–basketball shorts minus my boxer briefs, and that had been a tremor inducing decision with my mind screaming, Choose something! as I stood there as still as an asshole during a snowstorm. Eventually, I settled down enough to walk downstairs without suffering a panic attack. I was going to enjoy my mother today, no matter what.

Every step out of my room was another step up a mountain, and the tingling had returned to my palms, along with the sweat–palms only. Jesus, but my mother had a strange effect on me. I didn’t see her at the top of the stairs, so I hurried down at a jog, my feet rumbling down the steps. I turned right and walked straight through the hallway, cutting into the kitchen, and that’s where I found my mother, dressed for me exactly as she had promised to dress for me.

God damn, but I was one lucky son of a bitch.

Mom had chosen a simple combination of clothes, but my cock still rose at the sight of her. She sat at the breakfast nook with her profile to me. A white T-shirt made of thin cotton clung to her body, molding to her breasts, their sides and undersides, and her already rock-hard nipples. The shirt pushed right up to where the underside of her breasts met her chest and then slid straight down, stopping above her belly button and leaving her slim stomach bare, her little belly bottom shallow and kissable to my mind’s eye. A white, lacy, elastic band circled her waist, about a quarter-inch thick, and that was all that I could see from her profile, meaning the rest of her panties lay snuggled between her ass cheeks in some kind of thong or G-string. I hoped she was wearing a G-string.