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Playing with moms tits

Now, along with the growing wonders of my cock, came the desire to be more involved with the wondrous, curvy creatures my friends and I used to call "worthless sissies".

I spent more and more time thinking about girls and pulling my pud. Mom didn't help matters any. She might as well have been one of those girls.

One day, it dawned on me that my mother had already become what the girls at school were only starting to be; a fully grown, fully developed woman.

Looking back, with the benefit of hindsight and the experiences of adulthood, mom was no beauty queen, but she had what it took to enflame my embryonic libido.

At the time, she was nearing age forty, and was starting to gain the extra pounds and gray hairs that most women do when leaving their youth, but at 5 feet, 7 inches, she still had an enticing, voluptuous figure.

That is, for a mother. Mom had beautiful, auburn hair, cut to above shoulder length, and in the style of the day, which was the late 's.

Until then, she had managed to color out or ignore the long strands of gray that made their presence more and more noticeable as time went on.

Never did I think of her as unattractive, and she was not. I had always thought of her as my darling mother, and nothing more. One beaming smile from her full, expressive lips melted me with loving warmth.

Her maternal body was always there for me to hug, a safe harbor love and shelter. Now, I started to see her through the eyes of a sexually awakening young man.

During those years, my mother would never expose herself intentionally. While she was not shy, or a prude, she always wore something demure, but nice, to bed, or she would have a luxurious bathrobe or dressing gown to cover herself in the presence of her son.

Once in awhile, though, I would catch a glimpse of a bare butt or a quivering breast, usually in the bathroom or bedroom. I would always look, curious to discover the mysteries of her body.

The thought of sex, or sexual exploration with my mother, never crossed my mind. Now, I began to find myself trying, mostly in vain, to see my mother's nude body.

Like a little opportunist, I began to lurk around the bathroom door whenever I heard the shower, knowing dad had already left for work, hoping the door would open before mom had fully concealed her body.

Unfortunately, our house was too modern to have old-fashioned keyholes so perfect for spying , so whenever mom and dad's bedroom door was shut, I would press my face against the carpet at the bottom of the door, silently peering through the tiny crack underneath, trying to see what activities were taking place.

Luck came rarely. Mostly, I would see my mother drop her robe, and her bare legs pacing back and forth as she dressed.

Once or twice, she dropped an article of clothing. Then I would get a quick look at her breasts dangling as she bent over to pick it up.

This would be enough, though, to make my cock swell and tingle. Many sweet mornings would be spent with my face crammed against the bottom of the door, squeezing up a mess in my underwear.

One morning, my secret pastime was almost discovered. My underwear still contained ample, sticky evidence of my excitement. Unfortunately, my left cheek also bore the deep imprint of the peach shag carpet in the hallway outside her bedroom door.

She furrowed her brow, rubbing the indentations on my cheek. I had no cute reply and could not think of a story fast enough.

I told her the truth. Mom said nothing, but rubbed my cheek gently, a quizzical expression on her face. To my relief, she did not make the connection, or so I hoped.

Several weeks passed before I could gather the courage to peek under her bedroom door again. Hearing her door shut, I waited a moment, then crept into the hallway.

Silently, I pressed my face against the door crack. This time, I had ripped the cardboard backing from one of my spiral notebooks to slip between my cheek and the thick, nylon carpet.

No more tell-tale imprints! In my excitement, I tried to control my heavy breathing as I eyed mom's smooth, shapely legs and bare feet as they paced from the bed, to the closet, then to the vanity.

Clothes were laid out on the bed. Then, as I had settled into a comfortable position, my hand caressing my stiff cock, something unusual happened.

Mom spread a large, candy-striped towel on the floor, the one we always took to the beach to lie on. The sight of her lovely breasts jiggling as she bent over exited me enough, but then, she went further.

My mother proceeded to lie flat on the towel, right on the floor! I almost gasped in surprise, but kept quiet, delirious with my incredible stroke of luck.

The fresh information flooding my brain made me dizzy. My eyes opened as wide as possible, straining, as if I could see more by doing this.

Fearing discovery my mother and I were now at the same eye level , I drew back from the door a fraction of an inch, but could still get a full view of my nude mother.

My hand busied itself, squeezing my hardness, mystified as to what she would do next. This was the first time I had seen and appreciated fully the magnificent entirety of her nakedness.

Of course, I zeroed in on her breasts. In this position, they rested in pleasant mounds atop her chest. Her nipples were large and succulent, and her areolas glowed a reddish-pink.

My eyes slid lovingly down the length of her body. I had never seen her pussy, and still could not. She had a thick, auburn triangle of silky fur between her navel and the tops of her thighs, much thicker than the fuzz developing in my underwear.

With the exception of my lovely mother, and the throbbing in my cock, I was oblivious to everything around me. As I watched, mom began to pass her hands over her body; starting at her shoulders, passing over her breasts, which had hard tips by now, then down her stomach, past her bush, to her thighs.

She repeated this motion several times, in both directions, occasionally stopping to linger on a particular spot on her body.

My face glowed hotly as I began pumping my shaft, mad with curiosity as to what she would do next. Staring toward the ceiling, with no emotion on her face, she cupped her breasts and began massaging them with a slow, deliberate motion.

The soft, cushiony globes responded to her hands like two mounds of firm dough, shifting heavily with her touch. I noticed her breathing had become deep and steady, watching her chest rise and fall with a wavelike rhythm.

Slowly, mom began to concentrate on her beautiful nipples, pulling on the hard tips with each stroke of her hand. My hand squeezed harder on my cock.

Soon, she began to roll each nipple in the balls of her fingers, squirming slightly, as if she was becoming uncomfortable.

Her face softened, and I could sense her breaths increasing with intensity. At first, I thought my mother had an itch in her pubic hair.

Fondling a breast with one hand, she traced her fingertips down to the dark triangle. Gently, she began to rub her fingers in the soft, springy bush, up and down.

As I watched, she kept rubbing and rubbing. One of her fingertips delved deep into her pubes, and I knew mom must have put it inside her pussy.

Her hand began to move in small circles, her finger still deeply embedded. Mom reacted, gasping softly through wet, parted lips, arching her back slightly.

Her other hand never stopped teasing her reddened nipples. What was she doing? As I masturbated blissfully, my young, ignorant brain suddenly lit up with revelation.

THAT'S what my mother was doing! Although she didn't have a cock to play with, like me, she must have found a spot inside her pussy that felt just as good, and she was working it with a passion.

With this newfound knowledge, I began jacking my way towards orgasm. Now, every movement of my mother's body, every nuance of her face, became the most important thing in the world.

I studied her activity as if my life depended on it. Biting her lip, mom masturbated more and more aggressively, grunting and moving her body like an animal.

Then, it happened. Starting with a cry, mom stifled herself by biting her forearm. Her now-wet hand blurred against her pussy as her hips bucked and writhed.

Mom appeared to be having convulsions, each wave wracking her body violently, one after the other, until they finally subsided.

By now, I had to close my eyes, because my own orgasm hit like a hurricane. Forcing my face into the carpet, I fought to remain silent as my body shuddered out a sticky load into my hand.

My face burned hot with passion as I nursed the final spurts of come from my surrendering cock. After a few moments, I opened my eyes only to see mom's feet scurrying away to the bathroom.

Fumbling down the hallway in shock, I sequestered myself in my bedroom to wank yet again. For a long period of time, that was the only display I had the fortune to witness.

Mom didn't change her demeanor, and I assumed her little masturbatory interlude was not for my benefit. Questions remained, though.

Why had she lain on the floor and not on the bed? Why did she need to masturbate anyway, when dad, by all appearances, gave her all the affection and attention he could?

I would ponder these mysteries in my young mind, in the darkness of my bedroom, as I pistoned away at my tender pud. Summer, brought my birthday, a trip to summer camp, and a slight scare for the family.

Mom had gone to Dr. Heywood for her periodic checkup. During her examination, the doctor found a tiny lump in one of her breasts.

It was nothing, almost nothing; a "mass" Dr. Heywood called it after the tests returned, but he recommended removing it anyway.

The removal, quick and sanitary, required only an overnight stay at the clinic. Today, with HMO's and crowded hospitals, the surgery would have been an outpatient procedure, easily.

In spite of the quick surgery and positive prognosis, the entire ordeal had frightened my mother, and rightfully so. Cancer ran in her family, so, in her parental wisdom, dad and I got a course on breast cancer and its early detection.

Mom brought home a big, hardbound book from the library and, in the following days, I saw so many photos and diagrams of tits that I knew them better than the reddened underside of my cock.

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