Kathy Andrews: Hot action with mom

Sharon and Bobby sat at a small table, sipping sodas and watching the crowd move up and down the enormous shopping mall. Sharon felt the wetness in the crotch of her panties as she watched her son. He boldly watched the woman and girls, his eyes bright with yearning pleasure.

Sharon didn't mind, too much, that her son had this obvious interest in women and girls. He was very young, but apparently not so young he did not appreciate the beauty of a curving, swelling ass; the thrust of full, shapely tits; the sway of rounded hips; or the long, tantalizing legs flashing between short skirts and tight, revealing shorts.

They had always been open with each other, much more than most mothers and sons. When Bobby found a deep interest in something, he always let his mother know about it, no matter what it was. First it was his models, then it was baseball, then comics, and now it seemed to be women, or girls, or a combination of both.

He was, after all, a boy. And boys, sooner or later, discovered girls. They began feeling the first bubbling stir of erotic sensations in those preciously young balls, and the need to find a [missing text].

[missing text] without a jiggle of movement. Her rounded hips swayed sensuously, her teasing thighs exposed almost to her ass by the recently revived fashion of the miniskirt. The girl was carrying books and she paused about ten feet from Sharon and Bobby, peering into a novelty shop window. She dropped her books, and leaned over to pick them up. She didn't squat in the normal way of a woman, but leaned with her legs straight.

There was a brief flash of her creamy ass checks, half of them exposed below the tight, pale-blue panties.

Bobby made a moaning sound as he looked. Sharon felt a stab of unusual heat in her.

It was because she had seen the girl's ass, but because he made such an obviously hungry [missing text].

[missing text] the ass cheeks bunching as she walked.

"Ahhhh, so pretty," Bobby murmured, and Sharon noticed his right hand was below the small table.

"Don't drool," she whispered, knowing he was probably pressing his hand on his hard cock.

He flashed his mother a grin, and quickly turned to watch the woman's succulent ass bounce from view.

This open honesty between her and Bobby had always been there. There were few secrets between them. She didn't think her son kept any secret from her. He didn't go out of his way to hide to jack off, didn't make any particular effort to conceal the fact. She could have walked in on him a number of times. She was sure her son wouldn't mind, and would probably welcome her presence, enjoy having her watch him pump his hand up and down his cock, watch the gush of that boiling, thick come juice spurt from his balls and cock.

No, she didn't think her son kept any secrets from her.

But Sharon kept a few from him.

She kept bidden this rowing need inside her own body, this almost maddeningly insatiable hunger to allow her son to see her dressed in revealing clothing, this constant bubbling heat of her cunt. She refused to accept the messages of her mind that she desired her son, desired his cock, desired to fuck him. She liked his boldness, his unhesitating way of saying exactly what he had on his mind.

Sitting there, watching her son gaze hotly at the women and girls, she felt the crazy urge to slide her hand to him, to see if he did, indeed, have a hard-on under the table. But all she could do was sit there in her wet panties and try to imagine his cock bulging up inside his pants.

"Let's go, Mom," he said.

She knew he would want to leave as soon as he felt the heat in his young balls. Watching so many pretty women and girls, with his erotic interest in them, Bobby couldn't remain long without going off to pound his cock until he came. She knew that quite well.

In the car with her son beside her, she kept her eyes averted from the obvious swell inside his pants. That was another thing her son didn't conceal; when he had a hard-on, he allowed it to thrust and strain out until he finally went off to jack it frantically. Every time Sharon noticed his cock was hard, she fought to keep her eyes away, pretending she wasn't aware of it. Now, beneath the wheel of the car, her skirt crept a few inches past her knees. With a blush on her pretty face, she left it there.

She had never before allowed her skirt to hike up. This time, she made a special, very difficult, effort to leave it alone.

As soon as they were inside the house, Bobby took off for the bathroom. But this time there was a difference; Bobby was opening his pants as he almost ran.

Sharon paced about the floor, going from the living room to the kitchen, and back again. Knowing her son was in the bathroom jacking off disturbed her greatly. The palms of her hands itched, and the throb of her clit was pronounced more than ever before. She could feel the lips of her cunt swelling up, and the crotch of her panties was drenched with the slippery juices oozing from her pussy. She tried to visualize her son there, sitting perhaps on the toilet, his legs wide, his precious cock standing straight up, his fist wrapped about it, squeezing, pumping and pounding, his lovely balls jiggling.

She stood in the middle of the living room, pressing the heel of one hand into her crotch, the cheeks of her ass tightening. She closed her eyes, lifting her head upward, moaning softly. She twisted her hips, then made humping motions, jerking her ass back and forth slowly.

The orgasm was mild, whetting her hunger for more, stronger orgasms.

If only she could be bold, fuck her son. If only she could do something with him, anything to cool the overheated bubbling of her cunt. She could satisfy herself and her son at the same time. This way was nothing but pure torture, she tried to tell herself.

Sharon rationalized no one would ever know.

She had no living relatives, and therefore I neither did Bobby. His father had been an only child, too, and his fatal accident over five years before had left them both alone in the world. Sharon had no really close friends. She was a loner, preferring it that way.

Who would be hurt?

There was a vague, nagging suggestion in the back of her mind that she shouldn't fuck her son, that it was wrong in some way. She tried to tell herself that was only a cultural demand. Other societies had no such qualms, she had heard. She wanted to take her son's cock into her cunt, fuck him wickedly, feel the hard thrust of his young cock going deep into her pussy. She was certain her son would do it, would fuck her with happiness.

Yet, something held her back.

But there had to be some way, some method, that would satisfy them both, end this torment they were both feeling.

The idea was only vague in her mind when Bobby came back into the living room. She was sitting on the couch, her legs crossed, elbow resting on the arm, her chin in her hand, considering the idea.

Bobby sat down on the other end of the couch, picking up a paperback book he had been reading the night before. He had found science fiction, and devoured the books ravenously. Sharon swung her crossed foot, feeling the friction on her cunt.

"You do that very often, don't you, honey?" she said, her voice so low and throaty she hardly recognized it.

Bobby nodded, unhesitatingly.

Sharon swung her foot, making the muscles of her thigh work against her cunt. She peeked at him from the corners of her eyes, wishing her son would speak, tell her bluntly that he jacked off frequently. She let her gaze move to his lap, trying to picture his cock and balls. Her clit was knotted tightly, and her panties were so wet they were uncomfortable. Her skirt pulled slightly away from her knee, working along her thigh slowly from the movement of her foot.