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It Started with the Floors

I first started getting hardons for my Mom when I was recovering at home from a concussion I received in a car accident just after turning 18. I had to stay home and do school by correspondence for a whole term. I fought against this home prison sentence, not wanting to stay home, bored silly, with my Mother all day, but the doctor insisted. So I set myself up with my books and laptop in the dining room but soon migrated to the living room so I could watch TV while studying. Bored, I actually started to hang out in the kitchen to talk with my Mom. By the end of first the week, we were talking about all sorts of stuff, and I was really enjoying being around her; she seemed like a different person. She also seemed to enjoy our talks because whenever she finished a job she would come to spend her free time hanging out with me. She'd just flop down next to me on the couch, swing her feet up, and read a magazine or something. We were near each other all the time and made a habit of watching movies together in the afternoons.

On the tenth day, the signal event happened. Mom waxed the hardwood floors. She did it the old fashioned way, paste wax applied on her hands and knees. But that wasn't the good part. She swept into the living room announcing, "It's floor day. I don't want to bother you, but I really need to do the floor."

"OK, Mom, but will you be finished before the movie starts in half an hour?"


Then she did it. She absently doffed her housecoat. Underneath, she was wearing an old slip, like women wear under a fancy dress. It's silky material hugged her form, from the fragile shoulder straps to mid-thigh. She lifted a leg, bending it at the knee, and slid a knee pad up her calf and adjusted it before repeating the act with the other leg. I immediately noted how sexy her legs looked, although I'd never noticed them before.

It's a good thing she wasn't paying any attention to me because I was mesmerized, my eyes glued on her body. It was really worth looking at. I don't know why I'd never noticed it before. She had nice, athletic legs, a narrow waist that flared out over her hips above a nice prominent tush, and small but pert breasts. The lace on the front of the slip traced a line across the tops of her breasts just above her nipples, but dipped down in between her tits so it wouldn't show if she was wearing a dress with a lower neckline.

She walked over to the edge of the room farthest away from me near the entrance hall, pulled the little knick knack tables away from the wall, got down on her knees and started applying paste with a circular motion of her arm. I had stopped typing since she'd dropped her robe on the chair.

"Don't let me bother you, dear."

"Oh," I finally replied, "I'm just reading."

But I wasn't. I was staring at the little motions her ass made as it reacted to the swirling motions of her hand as she applied the wax. I could see her crack through the thin material. As she worked, the slip slid up higher until it barely covered her cheeks. With her legs now set wider apart than when she first started, I could clearly see the soft backs of her thighs. Her ass swayed from side to side and back and forth in mini fuck-like movements, treating me to teasing glimpses of her yellow panties. My cock was painfully raging against the confines of my jeans.

It took Mom about fifteen minutes to work her way back to the coffee table in front of me. Her ass was always pointed right at me and I never took my eyes off it. Rubbing my cock through my jeans, I had to quickly stop when she backed into the coffee table and suddenly turned around to face me. She didn't look at me. Her face was flushed and the front of her slip was damp between her tits. She reached under the coffee table and started working the floor under it. Intent on her task, I was free to watch her small tits jostling about. Working her way along the coffee table, she turned when she got to the end, her back to me again, and started backing towards me between the coffee table and the couch.

"Lift your feet, honey," she said and passed under me.

I let my legs scrape her back, dragging her slip higher over her hips and then shifted to the far end of the couch so I could look directly at her ass covered only in the little yellow panties.

"Mom, you missed a spot at the end of the table," I said, jokingly. I was surprised when she unquestioningly crawled back to the far end of the couch and somehow found the missing spot I had simply invented. She worked her way back toward me again as I gawked at her ass covered only by her sweat dampened panties. Fantastic!

When she drew near, I slipped back to my end of the couch. She stood when she finished, smoothed her slip down her thighs, and flopped down on the other end of the couch. She laid her head back on the sofa's arm and stretched her feet toward me, knees slightly bent. Crossing her arm over her eyes, she said, "OK, I need a little rest before I polish that."

Polish it? Great, I was going to get more eye candy?

Then I realized I was being treated to another show while she rested. Her slightly parted knees afforded me a view up her tanned legs to her panty-clad pussy, damp with her sweat and clearly outlining the vertical crevice between her pussy lips. If she'd opened her eyes, she would have caught me leering at that sweet spot between her sculptured legs, shiny with the sheen of her sweat. But she didn't. Instead, she stretched her legs out until her feet rested against my thigh.

I cupped my hand over the tops of her feet as they pressed against my leg, rubbing them gently. "Oh, that's nice Doug", she said. I worked my hand in between her feet and up the inside of each foot to her ankles. "Mmmmmmm", she sighed appreciatively.

This was great, I could look, and touch her too. I started rubbing, stroking really, up the inside of her calves. Up one and down the other. As I did, I applied gentle pressure to open her legs, every so slightly, to improve my view. She complied passively, allowing me to open her legs. "Mmmmmm, mmmmmmm, that's nice", she said, as I stroked her legs, drawing the "nice" out into almost a soft hiss. Lifting her feet, I swung my knees underneath, putting her feet down on either side of my left knee, and started to caress her legs with both hands. "Mmmmm, that's really nice, Dougie".

I pushed closer to her, sliding her feet back, bending her knees and opening her legs more, so I could extend my strokes past her knees to the inside of her thighs. She sighed appreciatively, but I didn't dare venture further, contenting myself to stroke her leg just to the point where it widened out into her inner thigh. I dearly wanted to touch her farther up, but I contented myself with looking, her open legs providing a clear view of her pussy and the light dusting of hair that covered it under her panties.

I scratched lightly at her leg for quite a while until she seemed to be sleeping. I ventured further, stroking the inside of both legs on the very soft skin a little higher up, almost to her pussy. Her breath caught in a sharp intake, and then several breaths in rapid succession. "Doug", she sighed, "don't be naughty."

I was startled. I had thought she had dozed off or I would never had touched her so intimately. I stopped completely, not moving at all. Then, seemingly changing her mind, she said, "Maybe for just a few more minutes."

I continued, and a moment later tried to get right up close to her pussy.

"No, son," she said, "be a good boy, now."

She let me touch her for about five more minutes during which time I finally noticed her small tits flattened against her chest with the nipples struggling to poke through the slip. At that moment, she opened her eyes, catching me staring at her tits. I blushed deep red, panicking, expecting an angry rebuke but she just smiled and got up, saying it was time to polish the floor. To my disappointment, she used an electric polisher stored in the hall closet. The show was over.

When Mom finished polishing, she came and sat down beside me, very close, even leaning into my side. "Let's watch a movie," she said, and curled her feet up beside her. After a few minutes of watching the movie, I slid my left hand over and rested it on the top of her thigh. She patted her hand over mine and smiled.

"Just like when you were little, always wanting to play with the things you weren't allowed to touch. OK, I'll let play with your new toy while the movie's on. But don't be bad."

She let go of my hand, leaving it on the middle of her thigh. I pushed it between her legs and started sliding it slowly back and forth. Eventually, I managed to back my hand within an inch of her pantyclad pussy. When she stirred uncomfortably, I mumbled, "Sorry," and pulled away.

"Uh huh," she responded, in a 'I don't believe you' tone of voice. I managed to let it happen a few more times but I didn't say anything, and she didn't react. When a particularly intense scene came on in the movie, I did it again but left it there, almost touching, less than an inch from her pussy. She didn't notice until the scene ended a minute later. "Doug," she whispered softly, "Move your hand, sweetie." I didn't respond. "Move your hand, sweetie," she repeated softly, not angrily, but firmly. I did.

I moved my hand completely away, reaching around and resting it on her collar bone in the front of her shoulder. She snuggled tightly into me, "Oh, you're such a good boy." Her movement let my hand slip down onto her breast. I froze, but she didn't move or say anything. We watched the rest of the movie with my hand resting lightly on her tit. After a while, her nipple stiffened and poked into my palm. It stayed hard through the entire movie. I wished that movie could have lasted forever.

She didn't get up right away when the movie ended. She let me continue holding her. Then she turned her head up to me and gave me a long kiss on my cheek. "Your Dad will be home soon," she whispered huskily, "I guess I better get up." And then she gave me another quick kiss, on my mouth. When Dad came home, she had changed into a blouse and jeans. That evening, I could still feel the press of her lips on my mouth, and the sensation of her nipple in my palm, but Mom was her same old self around me, without a hint of the afternoon's activity.


The next day, I studied and worked my courses all morning. We had lunch together but nothing was said about the previous afternoon, and Mom didn't act any differently toward me. Had it even happened?

After lunch, I finished my work, then turned the TV on. Mom came into the living room and said, "Starting the movie a little early today, I see."

"Yup," I said, "but I can wait if you need to was the floor again, Mom."

"I just bet you can," she laughed. ...
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