Hot Summer Housework with Mom

Hot Summer Housework with Mom

As I followed my Mother toward the ‘storage room’ at the end of the hallway, I couldn’t help but smile a little to myself. Yeah, it was indeed gonna suck spending a beautiful July afternoon clearing out and organizing the avalanche of junk that had accumulated in that small room over the course of 15 years. That’s how long Mom and I had lived together in our modest two bedroom house. A house she bought (with lots of help from her parents) after divorcing my alcoholic father when I was just three years old.

For 15 years, our ‘storage room’ as we called it, had been our repository for all of life’s odds and ends. If we didn’t want to throw something away – but didn’t know what else to do with it – into the storage room it went. Now however the small room was nearly filled from floor to ceiling, and Mom had determined that we were going to wrestle it under control before I left for college next month.

But there was one very silver lining to this whole situation, and my smile broadened, as my eyes roved up and down my Mother’s petite form, coming to rest on her shapely derrière. Beneath the taut, black fabric of her yoga pants, I could clearly make out the tantalizing triangle of a lacy, hot-pink thong. Yes, for the next 3 to 6 hours, I was going to have a first-class, unrestricted view of the tightest, hottest little ass I’d ever seen. The ass I’d fantasized about countless times in perverse masturbatory ecstasy. The ass that belonged to my sweet, beautiful Mother.

2.

“Ta-Daaa!” she exclaimed swinging the door open wide, and turning back to look at me. Fortunately, I’d become adept at anticipating such sudden movements, and managed to avert my eyes from her ass just in the nick of time. “Hey what are you smiling about?” she looked at me quizzically.

“Oh nuthin’… just thinking about all the ways you can pay me back for this.”

“Oh-ho really?” she chuckled. “Well if that’s the case, then you’d better earn your pay Mister. And I’m gonna work you hard. Real hard. Whaaa-cheeee!” she made a whip-cracking sound, snapped her wrist and smirked.

I laughed a little nervously, as I felt my penis begin to swell ever so slightly.

The ‘storage room’ was really just a large walk-in closet – approximately 10 feet deep by 6 feet wide. A single 100-watt bulb illuminated everything from the center of the ceiling. The 3 walls were each lined with shelving from top to bottom. These shelves were stacked full with old cardboard boxes of various shapes and sizes. Most of them had been put there when we first moved in, their contents long forgotten. It was between the shelf-lined walls, where the real problem lay. Layer upon layer of boxes, bags, clothing, toys, tools, sporting goods, and bric-a-brac of all kinds. This mass of precious refuse filled the floor from back to front, and rose nearly to the ceiling. Yep, we sure had our work cut out for us.

Surveying the situation, we quickly devised a goal and a plan. The goal was to have the floor cleared out completely – so that we could walk freely and access all the shelving, front to back. Beyond that, our secondary goal was to go through the boxes that occupied the shelves, and determine what could be jettisoned, and what must be kept.