“Oh my goodness – look at you!” Mom’s voice sounded a bit unsteady. “My son the beefcake. You look like you should be posing for a calendar… ‘Young Studs Doing Housework – 2013 Edition.'”
“Ha-ha very funny, Mom.”
“Hey,” she replied, “no fooling… I’d buy that calendar. And so would all my horny old friends.”
“Mom, you and your friends aren’t old.” Mom was in fact 43.
“I never said I was old. I said my friends are old. And they’re horny. Me? I am completely ageless… and horny too.” She laughed musically. “Now come on stud. Fun time’s over, lets get back to work.” She stepped forward to pass by me – more closely than necessary. Resting a hand lightly on my shoulder, she turned so that her left breast brushed firmly against my right bicep. I could feel her hard nipple dragging across my skin. Then her right breast, and nipple… hard, pressing, dragging even more slowly. Again I heard a faint gasp as she drew in a sharp breath of air.
We did indeed have more work to do, but ‘Fun Time’ was far from over. In fact things were going to become more fun than I could have possibly imagined.
4.
For a while, we were able to put our inappropriate interlude behind us and attend to the task at hand. Another hour and a half passed, and we continued to make good progress. But it is undeniable that we were slowing down. It’s as if we were losing focus; losing the ability to concentrate. Perhaps it’s because we were beginning to focus more on each other. We were now deep toward the back of the closet and working shoulder to sweaty shoulder. Brushing, sliding, and frankly, rubbing against each other almost continuously. It became impossible to say how much of that physical contact was unavoidable – and how much was intentional. As time went on, I think we clearly shifted from the former to the later. At one point, I even felt Mom’s fingers delicately caress the length of my shaft – inadvertently, of course.
It’s safe to say that we were both functioning in a state of high-arousal. My penis continued to strain against my grey gym shorts. And my dear Mother seemed to have lost the ability to concentrate on anything else. No doubt, the single over-head bulb delineated each ridge and bulge of my manhood in sharp relief. And the fact that I was wearing no underwear certainly added to the effect. Mom’s eyes seemed inexorably drawn to my crotch. She was constantly running her tongue over her lips, brushing strands of hair back behind her ears, and ogling my engorged member. And, as if to ensure that my that member remained engorged, Mom’s postures and poses became more and more self-consciously provocative – like some primate in heat presenting herself to the alpha male.
Yet, somehow, we pressed on, and eventually, we managed to clear just about all of the debris from the floor – save for a few boxes. Mom actually got down on the floor – on her hands and knees, with back arched, ass up-turned and knees spread – ostensibly to examine the contents of one of these last boxes. This pose (aided by that 100-watt overhead bulb) caused her tights to be stretched so thinly, I could make out the entirety of her pink thong as it spanned the full length of her crotch. I could even see where the thong split her labia – pushing her fleshy lips to either side. And, remarkably enough, I could see precisely the dark nexus of her anus poised provocatively beneath that thin lacy strand.
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