M. DeSantis - Her Foxy Mom

"Mom?" She knocked again, a little harder.

No sign of awareness. The sad sound continued.

Charlene made her decision. She gripped the door knob, turned it, pushed the door inward, saw her mother.

Liz stood with her back to the door, facing the big dresser and the mirror above it. She stood there, unmoving except for the shuddering and sagging of her shoulders as she sobbed. She stood there, naked as a jaybird.

Charlene pulled up short, unnerved. "Mom?"

Her mother seemed unaware of her presence, staring at her own voluptuously nude reflection through puffy, bloodshot eyes and crying. Her magnificent breasts heaved and bobbled with her weeping. Charlene couldn't help noticing that her mother's nipples were, stiffened, fully swollen. "Are you all right, Mom?"

Slowly, she crossed the room towards her mother, bare feet sinking into the plush softness of the carpeting with each step. She stopped behind her mother, staring into her mother's eyes' reflection of Liz's shoulder. "Mom?" she repeated, this time the syllable little more than a whisper to her mother's ear. "What is it?"

"H-he doesn't want me any-anymore," her mother sobbed without turning.

"Who doesn't – " And then she cursed herself for being dense. Derek, of course.

Had he told Liz of the afternoon tryst? "Why not, Mom?" she asked uncertainly, half-afraid of the answer.

"H-he says I'm old and sagging and – Oh, Charly!"

And suddenly her mother had turned, almost falling into Charlene's arms. She felt momentary relief: obvious she didn't know. But then that relief was immediately supplanted with sympathy, tenderness – and all of it augmented by her own guilty conscience. Charlene tightened her arms about her mother's heaving back, holding her tightly to herself, unable not to be aware of the liquid pressure of her mother's firm, strong breasts against her own taut tits. She could smell liquor on her mother's breath and knew that Liz was more than half potted.

After a few minutes, the racking sobs quieted some. Charlene patted her mother's tousled hair gently, soothing. "It's all right, Mom," she said. "Who made him the expert all of a sudden, any -"

"But it's true, Charly, it's true!" her mother gasped out as the weeping renewed itself. "I am old and I am sagging and I am ugly and -"

"No!"

Suddenly fierce, Liz gripped her daughter's shoulders, pushed herself back and free of Charlene's arms. She stood there before her daughter as her arms fell to her sides. "Look!" she hissed. "Just look at me! I'm old, Charlene. Men don't want me anymore!"

"But that's not – that can't be – why?" Charlene stammered. "You're still beautiful and -"

"Because they want – this!" And with sudden strength, her mother reached out with both hands, gripped the material of Charlene's flimsy robe and tore it open – revealing the teenager's gorgeous charms. "They want breasts that are firm and smooth like yours, a waist tiny enough to cover with two hands, slim hips that never carried a child -"

And as she spoke, Liz was moving her hands lightly over the attributes she described.

"- legs that are long and lean and smooth, a tiny little ass as hard as a rubber ball. They want girls, Charly, like you – not mature women like me!" And again, the sobbing was renewed.

Charlene reached out with both hands and gathered her mother into her arms again. This time she felt Liz's mountainous naked breasts pressing directly against her own uncovered tits. She could somehow feel heat radiating from her mother's cunt to her own sweet, tight, fiery-furred little nooky hole.

And the sensations were arousing her. Almost against her will, certainly without having sought it, Charlene felt her body responding, felt her lusts boiling through her veins. She was getting turned on, turned on by another woman and without even the hint of a man – and the woman was none other than her own mother.

Inwardly, she wanted to recoil from the idea – and yet she couldn't. Her body was reacting, her desires taking command. And when she felt her mother's lips move against her satin-smooth shoulder, there seemed nothing in the least unnatural about it. On the contrary, it seemed the most reasonable possible thing to happen… and so did the little explosion of lusty sensation accompanying the kiss.

No, she thought, as she felt her own nipples beginning to swell against her mother's breasts, the familiar ache once more starting in them.

"So beautiful," her mother was murmuring against Charlene's shoulder. "So smooth and soft and perfect."

"No," Charlene breathed as she felt her mother's hands moving over her superheating flesh, pushing the robe completely free of her. The touch of the room's air on her flesh made her feel only that much wilder, that much more wanton and aroused and… that much less firm in her rejection of what was happening to her.

"No wonder they want girls like you," Liz was whispering, mouth moving towards the hollow of Charlene's throat. "So beautiful, so smooth and soft and taut -"

"No!" Charlene gasped, feeling her mother's hands sliding upwards to cup and lift her full, thrusting young beauties. The sensations of lust coursed through her without restraint now. She was rapidly losing the battle to her own feverish desires.

"Oh, so warm!" her mother breathed, head moving lower, lips pressing, caressing, kissing, parting – "No!" she wheezed, sucking in her breath as her mother caught each of her stiffly pointing young nipples between thumb and forefinger, twisting, tweaking, turning, tugging the taut tit-tips. The strength left her even as the heat of passion exploded inside her cunt.

"Yes," her mother moaned as she buried her face against the sleek, swollen curve of Charlene's magnificent breasts, each in turn and then back again. Her hands were slicking down over the strong indentation of her daughter's trim waist, then spreading slightly with the flare of Charlene's hips, finally slipping down, down, down over the long, lean thighs before moving between them at the knees and then back up towards the hot moist grotto of Charlene's femininity.

"Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother," Charlene babbled as she felt the touch of a single finger against her pussy, finger pad tracing the sensitive, nerve-covered edge of her swollen outer labia.

And suddenly, the hand between her thighs was gone, the mouth nuzzling at her breasts was gone and her mother was straightening in front of her. Liz's arms were going around Charlene and she was leading her daughter in a strange dance step that took her backwards toward the big waterbed.

One last time Charlene spoke the word as she felt the backs of her knees hit the edge of the waterbed frame, as she felt her legs buckle and felt herself falling onto the bed, arms and legs akimbo, wide open and spread, waiting to receive the hovering goddess of pleasure above her whom she called her mother.

"No!" she gasped and then they were in each other's arms, touching, caressing, stroking, fondling, kissing, licking, sucking, laving, probing, penetrating…

… coming…

But sometime later, her mother spoke. Caught up in the moments between ecstasies, quivering from toe to head with pleasure and arousal, Liz murmured, "Who needs them? What are they good for? They think that thing they have between their legs is everything, the center of the universe! Men! The hell with them. What do we need them for. We have each other and -"

The moment she said the words, there was within Charlene the realization that she had to leave for a while, to get out of there. The realization didn't become a thought – at least not at that time. And even the realization receded as her mother reversed herself above her and buried her face in Charlene's burning muff, retreated before the ecstasies of her mother's tongue and lips on her cunt.