James Armstrong - A special mother

"Oh, I like it when you undress me," Mitzi said. "Your hands feel nice on my ass."

"I sure like taking your clothes off," Tommy said. "Your skin's so smooth and hot."

Rita closed the door to the basement and frowned at the voices, coming through the crack in the sliding door to the living room. What was her son up to?

"Your hands are like fire on my tits," the girl said. "Come on. Squeeze them harder. Oh!"

Rita stole quietly to the sliding door. It was getting dark where she was in the kitchen, and a wedge of light came through the crack.

Her son and his girlfriend were sprawled on the living room couch. Tommy had stripped the girl's jeans off. Her blouse was open and so was the hook on the front of her bra, letting her big tits thrust out.

With one hand under her ass, he peeled her panties down off her ass-cheeks. He drew the thin pink garment down off her legs and dropped it on the floor. The girl had his fly open and one hand inside.

He spread the girl's legs, exposing the wedge of black pussy-hair, and slipped a finger in her cunt.

"Oh!" the girl gasped. "Let me get your big cock out. I'll see if I can get my mouth over it."

Rita had heard enough. Once started, there'd be no stopping that bitch. She didn't like her anyway.

She pulled the kitchen step stool over to the cupboard and climbed the two steps. Standing on tiptoes, she stretched and found the set of metal mixing bowls on the top shelf and pulled them out and dropped all four of them.

The clatter of metal on tile was over in a moment. Nothing but silence came from the living room.

Rita smiled to herself and said, "Damn! That was clumsy of me."

She got down and picked up the bowls, giving the bitch a minute to get her clothes back on.

After counting off sixty seconds, Rita went to the door and slid it open. Mitzi had her clothes on, and Tommy's fly was closed. Both were red-faced.

Rita smiled. "Oh, hi, Mitzi. It's nice to see you again."

"Hello, Mrs. Baylor," Mitzi said, showing a forced smile. Her breathing was still unsteady.

"Tommy, don't forget you have tests tomorrow."

"Right, Mom," he said. "I'll get the car keys. Be right back, Mitzi."

Rita sat in a side chair, facing the couch, her high-heeled shoes primly together.

"Well, Mitzi," she said, "I don't get to see much of you anymore."

Mitzi smiled like a barracuda. "Really, Mrs. Baylor, I'm more interested in Tommy than in you."

"Obviously."

"That's a nice dress you're wearing," the bitch said. "It comes from another generation, doesn't it?"

"We have different values," Rita said. "I have a high regard for my femininity."

"And your high heels? Are they to make you look as tall as me?"

Rita suppressed the urge to smack her. Maybe the dark-haired girl was right, but it would take more than heels to make her look tall. She just shrugged.

Tommy came back, dangling the car keys, and rescued the conversation before Rita could strangle the impudent bitch.

"Ready, Mitzi?" he asked. She nodded. "Back in a little bit, Mom."

When they were gone, Rita stood and went to the mirror beside the fireplace and looked at her trim figure. What could Tommy see in that damned little bitch? She could be beautiful, but she was just an eighteen-year-old slob, rude and sloppy, not at all fit to keep company with Rita's clean-cut good-mannered son.

Besides, the rude bitch just wanted Tommy's cock. Had Rita been a few minutes later coming up from the basement, the bitch would have gotten Tommy to fuck her.

What then? She was uneducated in other things, she would know nothing about birth control either. Next thing she would get knocked up. Tommy, being the decent young man he was, would feel compelled to marry her and take care of her, giving up any hope of the college education that was to start in a few months.

Well, that wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't let the impertinent bitch have the chance. Rita ground her hips back and forth, making the silky dress swish higher and higher on her legs. Not bad for a thirty-eight-year-old mother. She rose on one foot and turned quickly, making her long blonde hair fly out and the dress billow up around her waist, showing her stockinged thighs and lacy black garters.

That rude little bitch was way out of her league.

It was 11:00 p.m. when Rita brought a sandwich and a glass of milk to Tommy's room. Her son, dressed in pajamas, sat in the spill of light from the desk lamp, with text books piled to the side.

"I brought you some food for thought," she said.

He closed a book while yawning, smiled, and stood up. "Thanks, Mom, but I'm about finished cramming."

"Gonna pass that test tomorrow?"

"Darn right. I'm ready for it."

She squeezed his shoulder, "I'm proud of you, Tommy. You have a bright future ahead of you. Just don't blow it."

His forehead creased. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well… don't run with the wrong bunch of people. I'd hate to see you get hurt."

"Mom, are you talking about Mitzi?"

Warm blood rushed to her cheeks and she nodded. "I guess Mitzi's okay," she said. "There are just some things about her I don't like."

Her son looked at her with an expression more serious than she'd seen before.

"Mom… I don't know quite how to tell you this. I'm grown up and there are times when I get the urge…" He looked down, blushing.

She suppressed the urge to laugh and took his arm and said, "I know all about those urges. I was eighteen myself once. When you have those urges, you have to take care of them or they'll take over your life."

He was looking down at her, his expression incredulous, but he didn't say anything.

"You need to deal with those urges," she continued, "but be careful. Some of those young girls can get you in trouble."

"You're trying to tell me something, aren't you?"

"Look, I took care of you for eighteen years. I can take care of you a little longer."

"Mom!"

That did it, she thought. Now it's time to deliver.

Rita reached back and drew the zipper on her dress down to the crack of her ass. She took the silk by the hem and drew it up over her head and tossed it aside. She stood before him in bra, panties, garters, sheer stockings, and high-heeled shoes.

"There, now. Don't I have as good a figure as most teenaged girls?"

He was silent for several seconds while his face turned red. She looked down at her own figure. Her legs were heavier than most girls, but otherwise she could measure up very well with the young ones.

His hands went to her waist, then slipped down on her hips. She turned in his hands and pushed her ass against him. There was nothing soft about the cock-bulge in his pajamas. She opened the hook in the front of her bra and pulled the cups away, letting her thirty-three-inch tits jut forward.

"They aren't as big as Mitzi's," she said, bringing his hands to cup her tits. "But they don't sag down, either."

Tommy's breath was hot on the back of her neck. He squeezed her tits and pinched the hardening nipples, each between thumb and forefinger. Her breath came with a gasp each time he rotated the nipples, sending a warm ache through her tits.

She turned to face his dresser mirror and said, "Take off my panties, honey… please."

He squeezed her hard tits one more time and ran his hands down to her waist, out on her hips, and into the waistband of her panties. He was looking over her head at the mirror as he peeled the thin nylon down, exposing her blonde-haired pussy.

With her cunt fully exposed, he pulled her panties down on her legs and let them fall around her ankles. She stood, looking at herself, her lacy black garter belt holding up the transparent stockings, his hands moving closer to the exposed edge of her cunt.