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 Incest/Taboo A Mother's Worry Page 2

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A MOTHER'S WORRY PUBLIC BETA

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The living room in my house has a simple setup. There are Please consider leaving
feedback on issues you
floor-to-ceiling windows on the wall in line with the front experience or suggest
door, with two sets of motorized, retractable curtains. The improvements.
curtains closer to the window were white and transparent, Click here
while the second set were thick, blackout curtains for when
Dad fires up his flat-screen TVs--yes, that's plural. He thinks
he lives in a sports bar. Facing the TVs are three white
couches set in a horseshoe pattern with a glass coffee table
and other living room stuff that most homes have. Jenna and
I cuddled together on one of the side couches while Mom
sat on the long couch directly facing the TV, meaning we
couldn't really see her unless we looked behind and to the
side of us.

We didn't look at her.

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Instead, we watched the movie while Mom watched us. I

don't know if Jenna could feel it, but I could feel Mom's
green eyes cutting into me with the surgical precision of one
of those laser swords on TV. (I know it's not called a laser
sword. I don't care.) I cared about Mom's eyes, watching, and
judging--perving on us like some almost forty-year-old nun
eager to unsheathe her yardstick and slap the devil out of
us. That thought conjured the image of an Italian nun--
because all of the sexy nun pornos I've seen were Italian--
bending Jenna over a table and spanking my girlfriend's butt
until her cheeks turned red. That was a good thought. It was
such a good thought that my cock sprung to life beneath my
jeans, pushing into Jenna's ass. Jenna didn't hesitate to push
back against my prick with my mother right there!

Did Mom think her eyes were going to keep us from having
our fun? At some point, people who believe that other
people were watching them eventually go nuts. So, what
would happen to someone who knew that someone was
watching them? I didn't know, but I did know that I wouldn't
let Mom embarrass or intimidate me into a life of abstinence.
If she was going to invite herself into my world with Jenna,
then I was going to let her watch.

I had my arms around Jenna, but as these thoughts went

through my head, and she pushed her butt against the
growing concern in my pants, I raised my right hand--my top
hand--and I placed it on my girlfriend's side and squeezed.

Jenna shifted, uttering a laugh that she had tried to contain,

and my cock swelled to its full hardness. As I thought, Let
Mom watch, my heart sped up, and a chill raced across my
shoulders, riding my arms down to my wrists and leaving my
insides buzzing with an energy that wanted to escape my
body. I curled my fingertips over Jenna's side, caressing her,
and without thinking, I pushed my cock into her butt while
knowing that Mom was watching us.

Could Mom see my minuscule movements?

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I pushed harder into Jenna, and she pushed harder against

me. With Jenna cradled in my arms, I could see the profile of
her face, and when I urged my prick into her ass, which was
only covered by those cute cotton sweatpants that women
like to wear, the corner of her lips pulled into a wide smile. I
could see pink in her cheeks. As her smile widened, she
pushed her butt harder against me, giving my member a soft
grind, which sent an electric pulse through my pole from the
tip of my dick down into my balls. I had to fight off a moan,
but I tightened my ass cheeks and pushed my tented pants
deeper into Jenna's crack, my skin warming and the pace of
my heart's thumping increasing. What was Mom going to do
about this?

"I'm cold," Jenna said, turning her head to look over her
shoulder at me. "Can you get a blanket?"

"Yeah," I said.

On the living room's couches, a blanket lay draped over each

of the backrests. I grabbed the one from our couch and slid it
over our bodies. I thought I heard Mom make a noise, but
Jenna's giggle as she wiggled her butt against the ache in
my pants kept me from being sure.

Now what, Mom?

"Jenna," Mom said in a quiet tone that shot from her to us in

a straight line. "It's time for you to go home."

Holy fuck, had I asked that question aloud?

Jenna looked at my mother.

I looked at my mother, but this wasn't my house. I could

argue about some things, but I couldn't tell my mother what
to do in her own home.

"Okay, Mrs. Hornsby." Jenna swung her left arm upward,

pushing the blanket from her body and over mine, baring my
front and the sideways pyramid my cock had turned my
pants into. I covered myself as Jenna stood, turned, and bent
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at the waist as she pressed her lips to mine for a quick,

barely-there kiss. "I'll see you later."

"Now," Mom snapped.

Jenna's eyes widened, and she straightened her back and

ducked her head as she quick-stepped it through the living
room and out of my mother's house.

"Mom," I said, sitting up. "What the hell?"

There was so much I could have said, but that's what came
out of my mouth. Mom, what the hell?

"Mark--"

"It's going to happen," I said, my heart pumping hard as a

white-hot fire raced through my veins, reddening my cheeks.

I stood, not caring that I still had a hard-on as the blanket fell
away from me. Mom's eyes darted to my crotch, widening,
then she looked back at me with a strange defiance in her
eyes.

"We're going to have sex soon." I licked my lips. "There's

nothing that you, Mr. Mason, or Dad can do about it. I mean
it. And everyone is going to have to live with it."

I walked out of the living room as Mom called, "Mark! Mark,

get back here! Mark!"

My expression went from stern to glaring as I jogged

upstairs, increasing my speed to get away from Mom's voice.
I slammed my door once I was in my room. After a minute, I
rubbed my hands over my face, and through my hair, then I
looked at my door and then the doorknob, tempted to go
back downstairs. My mother hadn't deserved that. All that
she was doing was caring about me. But I didn't go, not until
later in the night after my father had come into my room to
tell me to make nice with my mother because between Mom
and me, there was no question as to whose side he was
going to take.

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As he left my room, he said, "Hey, I'm not going without sex,

too, because of you."

I shook my head and laughed at the casualness of his voice.

Taking a deep breath, I smiled and went downstairs to make
nice with my mother.

Tipping Point

I came downstairs to see Dad lying on the couch that made

up the right side of the horseshoe while Mom sat on the
back couch. Dad had a blanket pulled over his body, his
head on a pillow, and his remote in his hands. It looked like
they were binge-watching an original series, foreign but not
dubbed. The show had subtitles.

I walked around the left side of the couch that made up the
back of the horseshoe and sat down on the other side of my
mother. Mom looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. Mom
had changed into a pajama dress, which looked like an
overgrown baby blue T-shirt with a cloud print. She sat
staring at the TV and leaning against the couch's armrest.
Her long legs were visible from the mid-thigh down thanks to
the light from the TV, not that there was much light. Not that I
was looking. Not really. I was looking at Mom so that I could
mouth the words, I'm sorry, but my mother was my mother,
and a person couldn't help but notice the smoothness of her
swan-like limbs.

Since Mom wasn't turning her head toward me, I

concentrated on the movie, turning in her direction every
couple of minutes to see if I could get her attention. I
couldn't. Which kind of sucked since I didn't want to sit
through a subtitle-laden TV show just so I could make nice,
but since those damn subtitles held her focus, I sat, and I sat,
waiting and hoping that the episode would come to an end.

Coming downstairs to apologize for something was not new

to me. I was still in my jeans and shirt, and in my pocket, I
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had slipped my phone. I reached down into it, pulling it out

and lighting up the screen as I nestled into the corner of the
couch across from Mom. I swiped and swiped, and Dad said,
"That phone better be on mute," so I killed the volume as I
looked up at him, but he wasn't looking back at me.

I looked at Mom, who was looking at me, and I mouthed the

words, "I'm sorry." She smiled, but her eyes dropped to my
phone, and her smile tightened.

I shrugged.

What had she expected?

Mom swung her gaze back to the TV, and I looked back at
my phone. I texted Jenna, who returned my text, but we
didn't have much of anything interesting to say. We fed each
other live updates of our situations, and after sighing in
silence, I decided to go back upstairs for some phone sex,
and that's when I noticed something different about Mom.

Mom's left hand lay on her thigh, just beyond the hem of her
sleeping dress. The hem no longer lay in the middle of her
thigh. Her fingers, which were curling and uncurling in near
slow motion, had pulled her dress up along her leg so that it
now rested between the middle of her thigh and her hip. She
kept scratching at her leg, and the hem continued to rise, but
only on her left side, the side furthest from Dad. Not that
he'd noticed, lying on the side couch as he was, on his back
with his eyes glued to the subtitles flashing across the
screen.

I looked at the profile of Mom's face, watching as she stared

straight ahead, and then I looked down, where her fingers
continued to pull the hem of her pajama dress upward. She
slid her hand to the side of her thigh, her long fingers inching
beneath the hem while her fingertips slid across her skin,
and the TV's whitish-blue, sometimes silver-gray light,
flashed over her body.

My cheeks flushed.

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Mom took a deep breath, and my eyes moved upward,

traveling up her body and taking in her flaxen hair, so golden
and bright that even in the near darkness, it shined like a
beacon of light. My eyes shifted across her body, making the
short, sideways journey to her breasts, where they rose and
fell with her deep breaths. I saw, for the first time, the way
her sleep-dress molded to her form. My cheeks grew hotter,
almost burning, and my heartbeat rose as goosebumps
sprouted across the surface of my arms. Below my waist,
things warmed, causing my cock to stretch and my scrotum
to tighten in a pre-hardening ritual that I quickly recognized.

I was now looking at my mother's breasts and the way her

cotton nightdress slid down the upper slopes of her tits and
curved around, covering her nipples, which had grown stiff
and hard sometime before I had laid my eyes on them. And
they were stiff and hard, pointing outward like two solid
eraser nubs that I couldn't remember sucking on as a
newborn, but Mom had claimed that I had. What a weird
thought. The dress continued downward, clinging to the
round underside of her tits where they connected to her
sternum and sides, the fabric shooting straight down her
stomach and over her thighs.

Had Mom always worn pajamas that outlined her body as

though drawn to her skin? I didn't know, but I couldn't
believe that I wouldn't have noticed this kind of sleepwear in
the past. Mom's head twitched. I lowered my eyes to my
phone, though that guilty look that crossed my face
whenever I felt bad punched me right in the nose. I knew it
was there, that caught-in-the-headlights look that screamed,
I'm GUILTY of something.

Fuck.

Mom made a noise that sounded like a sigh with a shiver

running through it. After a second, I looked at my mother
again. The skirt of her nightdress lay beneath her butt,
leaving her dress draped across her thigh at an angle. Mom
shifted, first her shoulders, and the motion swung into her
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ribs and sides, then her hips. As she scratched at her thigh,
still moving the hem of her dress, Mom looked at Dad, who
had his eyes fastened to the TV, and then she lifted her butt
and made a quick scratch of her cheek that pulled her hem
behind her small, round, and pear-shaped butt.

What the fuck was going on?

Mom's head twitched again while I was still thinking about

my question. Mom saw me, and I saw her. My heart thumped
hard against the underside of my chest, like a man bracing
his weight against a door with one hand while delivering
hammer blows against its face with the other. Mom smiled. It
was a quick action before she looked back at the TV. My
mouth went dry because when she had smiled, her eyes had
flickered downward, and so had her chin, in such a way that
she could only be saying, Have a look, without having to say
it aloud.

I'm not stupid.

I'm not slow.

But was I imagining this?

Why would my mom do this?

How beautiful?

As beautiful as you.

That was a question she had asked, followed by the answer I

had given. I stared at her naked thigh, with the hem of her
dress pulled up to her waist as it curved in a sideways U
around her butt. The silver-white light from the TV
highlighted the side of her cheek, and my cock hardened so
fast I released a groan from my lips.

Mom's lips kind of puckered, then parted, then closed. For a

second, her profile had that caught-in-the-headlights look
that I had worn minutes earlier, but then it was gone. I had to
get out of there. I said nothing as I turned forward on the

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couch, then rose while tilting to my left and away from my

mother and father, hiding my bulging jeans as I quickly
walked out of the living room and into the connecting foyer
and headed up the stairs.

"Goodnight," I called.

Dad mumbled something.

Mom said nothing.

Once in my room, my pants came off, but my boxer briefs

stayed on. I had my phone in my hand, the lights were off,
and I was sitting in my bed, texting Jenna and asking her to
call me so I could hear her sexy voice.

Before she could text back or call, I didn't know what she
was going to do, my door opened. I jumped, and I grabbed
the pillow to my right and slammed it over my rock-hard
cock, which made me grunt. Mom had stuck her head into
my room, but she didn't bother turning on the light. I set my
phone face down on the bed.

"Mark," Mom said, "I'm not mad about earlier."

"I know," I said.

"I want you to think about what could happen to you if you
do anything with Jenna." Mom paused, and I heard her take
a deep breath. "Try, for me, for one week, to abstain from
becoming romantic with her. Just try for one week, and
maybe some good karma will come your way."

"Good karma?" I asked, unable to keep the laughter from my

question.

"Yes," Mom whispered. "Maybe you won't be fooling around

with Jenna, but there has to be something in this house that
can keep you distracted until you understand the
responsibility that comes with having sex."

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A buzzing lightness rushed through my body, and I licked my

lips, thankful for the darkness.

"Okay?" Mom asked.

I had to take a deep breath before saying, "Okay, Mom," but I

couldn't hide the tremor in my voice.

"Goodnight," Mom said. "Love you."

"I love you too," I said as she closed the door.

I looked at my phone, and it only took me a second to decide

that phone sex and face time didn't fall under the category of
romance.

Less than five minutes later, one of the strongest orgasms of

my life tore through my body, leaving me feeling weightless
and boneless, my muscles made of jelly. I slept well that
night.

It wasn't My Imagination

I awoke the next morning earlier than I usually did that

summer. I had worked my ass off during my first three years
of high school, and I was going to coast through my senior
year, which meant that this would be my first summer off in a
long time. Thoughts of returning to my slumber came to me,
but in the end, I rolled out of bed, put on my basketball
shorts and a T-shirt, and headed to my hallway bathroom to
finish waking up before I headed downstairs.

The downstairs has a wraparound floor plan, with the living

room to the left, followed by the dining room, then the
kitchen, then a hallway that leads to a laundry room, the
garage, a great room, and then back to the foyer, staircase,
and front door. The great room has a piano, a pool table, a
bar, but I don't spend much time in there....

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I entered the kitchen at seven in the morning, with the

sunlight shining onto the breakfast table through the white
curtains hanging over the bay windows. Dad was still home.
He wouldn't be leaving until about eight in the morning. Mom
worked from home, using her advanced degrees in
education to create specialized curriculums for private
schools while also selling lesson plans that covered
kindergarten through high school graduation to teachers
over the internet. She did well enough that Dad often joked
about retiring early, by about twenty years.

In the kitchen, I found Dad sitting at the table, reading his

newspaper with his back to the window and the sunlight
shining onto his paper. Mom was wearing a lavender robe
made of silk with the belt looped once, and the two halves
met at the center of her body. I noticed it dropped down to
the middle of her thighs--something I wouldn't have noticed
before last night. I would have seen it, but I wouldn't have
noticed it.

"Good morning," Mom said, giving me a smile and even

without makeup on her cheeks, and lipstick on her... lips...
she still looked beautiful.

Dad's paper fluttered with that crunchy, flappy sound as he

snapped it low enough to look at me. "You're up early."

"Good morning." I shrugged and looked about the kitchen

and breakfast nook as Dad lifted his paper. "I'm just up."

"Sit," Mom said. "I'll make you breakfast."

"Cereal is fine," I said, taking a seat.

"I said I'll make you breakfast," Mom said.

I sat at the end of the table, to Dad's left. To the left of me

was the kitchen island and Mom, who was cooking what
smelled like French toast with her back to me and her lower
body hidden by the kitchen island.

I looked away from her, thinking, Last night was weird.

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When Mom turned around from the stove, she set my plate
on the kitchen island and picked up the maple syrup. I
looked at her, but she looked at Dad, and as she did, she
seemed to become lost in thought. Her eyes never drifted in
my direction. She held the syrup in her right hand while her
left arm came up, and her fingers slid between her robe's
lapels. Rubbing motions followed, almost caresses, and as
she pulled her fingers out of her robe, she caught her lapel,
pulling her robe open to the left. I had to work saliva back
into my mouth as the golden-hued upper swell of my
mother's left breast came into view.

Holy shit.

Mom still hadn't looked at me. She stared at Dad's paper, and
then she looked down long enough to pour the syrup onto
my breakfast before raising her head and looking at Dad
once more. She set the syrup down, then reached up with
her right hand and slid her fingers beneath her left lapel and
rubbed the top of her left breast, with her palm on the outer
edge.

Holy shit again.

I watched in silence as her breast moved, not a lot, not even

a jiggle, just back and forth with the motions of her fingers.
Her hand came away, and her fingers curled around her right
lapel, and she pulled that side open, creating a narrow V
down the center of her cleavage. Mom shook her head as if
ridding herself of whatever thoughts had been running
through her mind, then she picked up my plate, walked
around the far end of the island and toward me with a new
gap in her robe that I had to struggle not to stare at--but
wasn't staring the point?

This wasn't my imagination.

Mom was showing herself off to me.

Holy, motherfucking-shit.

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Dad read his paper, and I ate, glancing at Mom as much as I

could without turning my head to stare at her. Maybe I was
supposed to look, but she was still my mother, and I still had
a girlfriend. Despite the warmth flowing through my heart
and into my skin, turning it red due to my mother's good
intentions, a little corner of my mind wanted to curl into a ball
and close its eyes. I could hear it chanting, This is weird. This
is wrong. This is weird. This is wrong. Lucky for me, the
chanting's volume faded with time, as though someone was
lowering the volume of a stereo with the unnaturally slow but
continuous rotation of its dial.

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