Built for One Thing

Part III

I was Mom's only child and she doted on me incessantly. She was protective, panicking whenever I didn't get home on time or forgot to call. She was suspicious of my buddies. "Are his parents okay?" she'd ask me, groping for reassurance about a friend throwing a party or having a sleepover. "Yeah, yeah, they're fine," I'd answer.

My active social life pleased her but she was jealous of my girlfriends, even the ones I just palled around with. "Is she cute?" she'd ask me in a tickling tone of voice whenever I mentioned a new name. Then came the staged pouting. "Cuter than me?" she'd whimper.

"No, Mom, she's not as cute as you." From my dutiful tone of voice, silly Mom thought I was just patronizing her. Hardly.

"Good!" she'd say, her brown eyes sparkling with triumph. "You're not allowed to go out with anyone better looking than me." She'd give me a peck on the cheek that nearly made my dick burst through my fly every time. Then she'd trot off to run errands or take a shower, her jugs swaying under a cotton button-down or an old college sweatshirt and her ass filling a pair of khaki shorts deliciously.

The truth is that the girls were jealous of Mom. No facetious pouting on their parts, only genuine, jaw-clenching, blood-greening envy. After meeting her, they never wanted to come to the house, and when they did, Mom's incredible looks made them stamp their feet and grumble some escape plan like, "Let's go to the mall. Right now."

We lived in a small, close-knit suburb, and Mom's face and body were probably a common subject of conversation. One evening, a girl I'd dated occasionally called me, but not to chat. "My mom wants to know where she can get boobs like your mom's," she said.

My one and only goal for my sophomore year was to play cornerback on the varsity football team, so I spent the summer working out twice a day and binging like Oprah Winfrey after a week of bad ratings. When I wasn't at Smitty's Gym doing squats, I was in the kitchen or the den with a plate of steak and rice.

Mom loved serving as my personal chef and studied a whole bookshelf of bodybuilding cookbooks. She'd come into my bedroom every morning at five with a protein shake and wake me with a feathery stroke on my arm. I'd drink the shake while she sat on the bed and yawned happily. Once when she took a long stretch, her arms overhead and her braless cantaloupes practically exploding out of her satin nightgown, I had to shift under the covers to hide the bulge of my throbbing cock.

The shakes and steaks, along with all the hours of weightlifting, paid off. By the end of the summer, my five-foot-ten-inch frame had filled out to a well-defined 165 pounds. I played second-string on the varsity team that year and continued my regimen. By the following summer, I was six feet flat and a husky, sinewy 180. And Mom was really taking notice.

She had been complimentary since the start of my training program, but as my shoulders broadened and she noticed she was looking up into my eyes for the first time (she's five-ten), her affection took on new character, a longing that seemed faintly carnal. "Lookin' good, very good, honey," she'd say whenever she saw me sunbathing by the pool. After bringing me my shake one morning and kissing me on the cheek, her lips moved to my ear, lingered for a long second and whispered, "Wake up, you big tiger."

It got more blatant. When I was helping her clean out a pantry one hot day in early July, I was carrying a heavy box and holding the door for her when she paused behind me and groped my straining biceps. "Mmm, nice," she cooed, her breath on my neck, and wiggled her tits against my back. My knees almost curled. I was getting the distinct impression that my mother wanted me.

It was understandable. Dad hadn't been a very strong presence in the family lately and had never showed much interest in her. I had no idea when they had last fucked, and I didn't want to know. I wanted her all to myself. Dad was decent and smart but socially inept, and I refused to believe he could satisfy any woman--least of all, Mom. Plus, he was five-six with a bad combover and a gut full of Ding-Dongs. Mom wasn't attracted to him. That made me smile.

Mom's lusty comments kept coming, and I was pretty sure she had noticed that, along with my biceps, my cock was getting very, very big. I was pretty sure I had spotted her stealing a couple of glances at my crotch though my jeans, and one afternoon by the pool, I caught her gazing right at my bulge as I vaulted off the diving board.

No one would blame her. One day as I lay on my bed stroking my huge dick with both hands and fantasizing about fucking her doggy-style, her ass quivering and her tits swinging back and forth, I noticed a can of Lemon Pledge the housekeeper had left in my room. I held it against my cock. They were the exact same length and width. I folded my hands under my head with pride and just looked at my dick, pointing straight up like a fleshy, engorged obelisk, the aerosol can of penises, its helmet dark and purple and as big as a racket ball. I had a ten-inch johnson with my mother's name on it. It seemed she and I were both built for one thing.

IV

That one thing, the thing I'd been praying for since I was nine, happened later that very month. It began about an hour after dinner on a Thursday evening. Mom and I were home and Dad's flight was due in late. I was in my bedroom, sitting on my bed and trying to get my mind off Mom, who had kept my cock at full mast all day with a form-fitting knit top and a pair of tight Levis. She'd been going to the gym with me a couple of times a week, and it was beginning to show: her triceps were nicely defined and her round ass was riding even higher than usual in her jeans. All I could think about was lifting that top and sucking her tits, then pulling down those jeans and sticking my big cock in her pussy. But such notions were beginning to depress me. It was madness. She was my mother and sex would simply never happen.

I was just about to call a buddy to go to the movies when Mom's fingers rapped lightly on my open door. "Hey, honey, look at these," she said, walking into the room. In her hands she held a black velvet demi-bra and a matching pair of panties. She dangled them from her pinched thumb and index finger, one item in each hand. The massive scale of the bra cups sent a shudder of lust down my legs. "Like them?" she asked.

"Wow," I whispered.

"I got them today. They're for your father."

"I think they'd look better on you," I said.

Mom tittered. "You silly."

I had always been so filial with my compliments to Mom, even when the rawest things were on tip of my tongue. But this time I didn't care. I decided to pretend she was a girlfriend and say what came naturally.

"God, you must look so hot in those," I said.

Mom's eyes widened at me and she seemed to draw a long, pensive breath. "Why, thank you, honey. Do you think he'll like them?"

"Uh-huh. Just imagining you in them is turning me on. But you look so hot in anything, Mom."

"Oh, Bobby," she laughed, "stop before my head gets too big."

"I'm not flattering you. Your body is beyond belief."

"Wow. Oh, god. Thank you, sweetheart. You're pretty gorgeous yourself."

She was grinning in ecstasy and gazing off at nothing. She was used to the crass come-ons from men on the street and blithe indifference from her husband, with nothing between the two. My brash, earnest praise had sunk in deep. A warm silence fell.

"Well?" I said.

"Hmm?"

"You going to model those for me or what?"

She glanced at the lingerie in her hand. "Oh, I don't know, Bobby, I'd feel kind of awkward."

"Gimme a break. I've been sitting here swelling your head for nothing?"

"God, to think I could actually turn on a sixteen-year-old." She truly didn't realize what a goddess she was. Modest beauty is such a wondrous thing. "Okay," she said gaily, "Just so you can give me the final yea or nay." She went off to her bedroom and I lay back on my bed rubbing my stiffening cock through my jeans. She wasn't even into the bra and panties yet, but in my mind she was already out of them.

A minute later, she called out from her room, "Okay, honey, come see."

I got up and walked to her doorway licking my lips and activating the video camera in my brain. I was quite possibly going to see the hottest thing in underwear since Marilyn Monroe had posed with her skirt in the air over that subway grate.

Reaching Mom's doorway, I nonchalantly looked inside. The room was moody and long-shadowed with the light from a single bedside lamp. And there, in the middle of the floor, stood Mom, giggling.

"See anything you like?" she said.

Oh, yes. Suddenly that bra no longer seemed so huge, stretched over the lower half of her massive chest like the Grand Coulee Dam desperately holding back a thousand acres of water. Mom's big, firm tits swelled over it together like two bronzy water balloons, her smooth skin pushing out just a touch beyond the top edges of the velvet. When she straightened one bra strap, causing her left breast to lift and undulate teasingly, I could practically hear its contents sloshing like a milk jug.

My eyes wandered lower. Below her board-flat tummy, the panties hugged her round hips in narrow bands that dove to her crotch in a deep v-shape. The material lay perfectly over her tanned, supple curves, and I imagined how her light-brown beaver triangle--which I hadn't seen since we stopped bathing together, years before--must have looked under the velvet.

"Well?" Mom asked, smiling and casting her arms out in graceful presentation. "I hope that dazed look on your face is a good sign."

"Jesus Christ," I said. Mom tittered again. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Hey, that could mean you've never seen something so awful," she whined.

"Okay, how about this? You're the hottest fucking woman on the face of the Earth."

"Bobby," she gasped.

"Show me the back," I said.

She turned around and I took a step toward her. The panties arced over the globes of her full, heart-shaped ass, which was far too youthful and resilient to allow the material to cut into her at the edges. I reached down and rubbed my cock, which was throbbing at full mast and bulged like a cucumber across the front of my jeans, the head up near my left hip. I left it there. The time for hiding my erection from my mother was over. I glanced up at her slim, sexy back and noted that her bra was front-clasping.

"Well?" Mom prompted.

"Those panties show off your gorgeous ass."

"Oh, Bobby, you *are* being bold, aren't you?" With her back still to me, she turned slightly to see herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door and fingered one of the bra cups. "This material is so nice. I love velvet."

"I do, too," I said, stepping up behind her. Her White Linen fragrance floated into my sinuses. I brought my hands up to her shoulders and caressed the material on the straps. It felt soft and alive over her skin and made me wonder how closely she kept the hair above her pussy trimmed.

Thinking about her pussy autopiloted my hands back down. I placed both of them on her ass and fondled it confidently She drew a quick breath.

"Mmm, feels like those glute exercises have been working," I said. "Your ass feels as good as it looks."

"Bobby, honey, thank you, but I don't know if you should..." her voice trailed off dreamily and her head lolled back a little.

My hands migrated back up to her slim waist and gripped it for a moment. Mom's head swayed. I brought my hands higher, trembling with anticipation. After years of staring at Mom's huge tits and ejaculating who knows how many barrels of cum all over myself in her absence, it was time to go for the real thing.

I let my fingers drift up to the sides of her bra, admiring the velvet again. Then, in one smooth, synchronized movement, I slid them down over the cups and gave her breasts--at least the portions that fit in my hands--a firm squeeze. I felt them swell up out of her bra.

Mom drew a long, rasping breath. "Oh, Bobby, no," she whispered, her head falling back. Her body hadn't tensed in the slightest. I thrust my hips forward and rubbed my big, hard cock against her ass. She arched her back in response.

I pulled my right hand from her breast, slid it up her neck to sweep her hair away and then planted a deep, succulent kiss on her nape. With my other hand, I pulled her left bra strap from her shoulder.

Mom craned her arms back and locked her hands around my ass, pulling me into her. I ran my lips up and down her neck a couple of times and then moved to her right ear. "You are so beautiful," I whispered before thrusting the tip of my tongue into it.

She shuddered. "Oh, my god," she said as her head turned toward mine. I worked her ear, nibbling on the lobe and grooving my tongue into the little winding canals above it.

With a sudden pirouette, Mom faced me, grabbed my head and stuck her tongue down my throat. Now it was my turn to gasp, drawing in a lungful of her heated mist, which tingled with electric madness like the moisture in roiling storm clouds. It was sin, it was chaos, it was the stuff that had made Greek poets fear the sun would turn backwards in its course. A mother was passionately kissing her son. And they were about to fuck.

Mom heard my thoughts and flinched. She pulled her head back with a look of dismay and planted two stern palms on my shoulders.

"Oh, honey, we can't do this. It's crazy. We'll regret it for the rest of our lives." She replaced her fallen bra strap.

"But it would be so good," I said.

"Oh, I know, baby, I know. You're so young and strong, and I can already tell that you know what you're doing." She looked at my bulging crotch. "I can also tell you're hung like a fucking horse, Bobby."

"I wanna do you with it," I said, leaning down to kiss her neck.

She didn't stop me. "No, honey, you're my son." I kissed her on the lips again and she instinctively darted her tongue into my mouth before pulling away. But then her eyes beamed mine with pure lechery, and her lashes blinked some beguiling Morse code message of outlaw sex. "Christ, it would be fantastic, wouldn't it? But no, we simply can't."

By then I was harder than I had ever been in my life. My cock was raging against my pants like an infuriated bull. I looked down at her huge, round tits, which were straining at the seams of her bra. If I gave up, I'd never get that close again.

Before she could raise a hand or speak a word, I reached up and unclasped her bra. Her tits surged out of it with such force that the cups flew back around her arms. I fit my hands under both tits and squeezed them greedily for a second: they were firm and ponderous yet the skin rebounded under my fingers like the barely-ripe 32B's on a teenage girl. Then I leaned down and took her right nipple in my mouth.

"OH," Mom called out.

My tongue orbited her aureole, and her nipple immediately stiffened and rose like a pencil eraser. I flicked my tongue over the tip of it. Mom panted. "Oh, my god," she moaned. I felt her hands on my head and feared she would push me away again.

Not this time. Her fingers sifted lovingly through my hair at the temples, her motions slow and massaging. Her nails scratched the back of my neck. Her grip tightened after a moment and she guided me to her other breast.

Meanwhile, I fondled her ass with both hands and one of hers descended to my crotch. It groped the outline of my cock through my jeans, stopping and squeezing like a shoe salesman palpating for toes in a new boot. Finally, her fingers reached the head and massaged it. My monstrous dick surged and strained and turned to solid granite. I could already feel it dripping juice in a steady trickle.

"Oh, my god," she said. "Oh, god, it's huge."

She pulled my face from her breast and we looked at each other. Her breath was coming in loud rushes, her bra was flopping uselessly at her sides and her mountainous, bare tits, wet with my saliva, were heaving up and down with each gasp.

Her nose crinkled and her lips curved down into a sneer so lustful I felt my sphincter contract. "Ooh, Bobby," she said, "I want you to fuck me with your big cock."

Hearing those nasty words from my mother for the first time sent such an unnerving ripple of lust up my spine that for a second I worried I would lose my erection. My knees were Jell-O. But that second passed quickly.