Massage leads to sex between mother and son
She didn’t know why she had left her panties off. She didn’t even think about it really.
She was just going into his room to say goodnight. It was not unusual. She was wearing her nightgown. She was ready for bed herself. It was not unusual at all.
She went to his room just to say goodnight, nothing more. She had not seen him in several weeks since he’d gone off to college. She had missed him. She was very happy to have him home for the holiday.
She knocked before entering. It was simple courtesy, long established as the norm for them. Whether his door was open or shut, that is what she would do. She would knock. He gave her the same courtesy any time he went to her room.
She sat on the side of his bed and gazed at him lovingly. He had been lying on his back, reading. When she entered, he closed his book and gazed at her, noting how beautiful she looked in her silky nightgown. Her curvy form was not altogether obscured. It played gracefully just behind the light fabric, drawing his eye, piquing his interest.
He wore no shirt, she noted, but the bed covers were sufficient, covering him from the waist down. She observed, with carefully restrained interest, that he had developed into a fine, young man, very fit, very good looking.
“I am so glad you’re home,” she told him softly, her hand reaching out to brush his cheek.
“Me too,” he assured her, a slight smile across his handsome face. He gazed at her face, her full lips, that beautiful smile of hers, the little wrinkles by her sparkling, loving eyes. Did he have something on his mind, she wondered.
She gazed back. He was so handsome, her beautiful little boy, now a young man. Of age. Now why did she think about that, she wondered, as she sunk down onto the bed, reclining beside him, tousling his hair with her right hand, studying his face. So handsome.
Her eyelids were heavy in her contentment. She closed them, about to doze off. She wanted to be with him, to linger, and savor his presence. She’d missed him terribly. She felt that she could just lie there with him all night.
He had been the man of the house for years now. She had no other. She cherished him. Her left hand caressed his arm, lazily petting him from wrist to shoulder and back and again, her fingertips just brushing his bare ribcage. He smelled a little musky, manly. She sighed, then kissed his cheek softly, settling her face into his pillow, her breath in his ear. He set his book aside and lay perfectly still, feeling her breast pressing slightly against his shoulder, stirring his groin. He thought carefully about just what he should do now.
“Ma?”
“Hmm?” she breathed softly.
“Remember the face massages?”
The thought snapped her back to full wakefulness.
“Yes, sweety, I remember,” she said, raising herself up on her elbow, ready, as always, to meet his needs.
“I think college has been making me a little tense,” he suggested, stopping at that, waiting, wondering.
“You want a massage?” she asked, smiling happily.