Frank Brown: The Smiths come together!

At the same time, though, he felt excited. His mother's touch, her moist, warm hands, sent thrills through him. His cock remained hard as stone, throbbing down one leg of his tights and oozing a few drops of warm lube against his leg.

"We shall dance the pax de deux you and Candace Wilson have been rehearsing," Greta said. "We need no music. We shall dance to the synchronized beating of our hearts."

Patrick was beginning to fear his mother had lost her marbles, or that she was going prematurely senile. Just before they stepped onto the dance floor, she reached back and pulled the pin out of her hair. She shook her head and her golden hair tumbled down her back, reaching nearly to her ass. Patrick had never seen his mother look so beautiful, or so sexy.

"You oughta let your hair dawn more often, Mother. It makes you look years younger."

Greta laughed, her face flushing rosily. "You mean I look your age with my hair down? Or perhaps I look even younger, like your sister."

"You look like a beautiful woman," Patrick said.

"Thank you, darling." Greta kissed him on the check and pulled him out onto the dance floor. "Pretend we have an audience of thousands."

As soon as he started dancing, Patrick lost all his misgivings about his mother's sanity. As he performed high kicks, his toes pointed, as he pirouetted and leaped, as he balanced and supported, lifted and caught his prima ballerina, he forgot completely that she was his own mother. She looked like a Goddess to him. She looked like the most beautiful female he'd ever seen. The sight of her excited him, energized him.

His cock nearly ripped through his tights as it strained to break free and stand fully erect. Dancing had always turned him on something fierce, and dancing with a female turned him on even more. As he caught and supported his mother, he held her tighter and closer than was necessary, pressing his cock against her hip, against her leg, against her ass. And she seemed to press closer to him than was necessary – the way Candy did when she wanted to be fucked.

Greta's heart pounded wildly. She was not in the best condition, that was for sure, but her wildly pounding heart came as much from her excitement at dancing with Patrick as from her lack of stamina. Her body trembled. At times her legs felt rubbery, and she was grateful for Patrick's strong arms. Her leotards were becoming sopping wet between her thighs as her pussy throbbed.

Take me, darling, she kept thinking – wishing Patrick could read her mind. Oh darling, I want you, I need you!

I've completely lost my mind, she thought. I should be locked in an asylum. But I can't help myself. I want him! I must have him!

The pax de deux ended. Sweat trickled down bath their faces. The smell of Patrick's sweaty armpits and Greta's hot cunt perfumed the air. They were both panting.

"You dance beautifully," Patrick said. "You should still be performing."

"Thank you," Greta said. "But I'm too old for the rigors of performing. I no longer have the elasticity of muscle and connective tissue of you young people. Besides, I do love to teach. Come, it's time for your massage."

The small, dimly lit cubicle that served as a massage room was much warmer than the studio. The air smelled of liniment and scented massage oils – wintergreen and rosemary, lemon and mint. Greta sealed the door and told Patrick to lie on the table.

"Darling, you must remove your tights. How am I to spread oil on your skin otherwise?"

"Darling, I'm your mother. I saw you naked the day you were born. You must not be shy."

Keeping his back to his mother, Patrick quickly peeled off his tights and slid up onto the massage table without turning around so she could see his cock. He lay face-down on the sheet, his cock as big as an arm under him, its fist-sized knob burning against his stomach.

It is customary to begin Swedish massage with the patient lying on his back, Greta was tempted to say, but then she decided not to rush things. She would get Patrick turned over eventually. For now, she would content herself with the sight of his bare ass and his enormous, hairless balls, which could be seen between his sprawled legs.

"Rein, my pet."

Greta squeezed oil into her hand, then spread the oil up the boy's hairless legs and onto his ass. Despite his strong, finely chiseled muscles, he had skin as smooth as a girl's. She spread oil on his back as well, then went to work massaging him.

Patrick pressed his cock hard against the padded table top, getting the sheet wet and slick with his cock-lube. The sensations that went through his body at the touch of his mother's warm, soft hands made him want to rub off against the table. Her hands thrilled him much more than the strong, rough hands of the young man who routinely came in to massage him and the other boys. Karl's fingers penetrated his muscles too deeply at times, making Patrick wince and complain. His mother's hands made him moan and melt.

He sighed. "Mother, that's wonderful! You ought to take over Karl's job. He's a sadist compared to you."

"I'm glad you do not consider me a sadist," Greta said with a laugh. "You have the softest skin, darling, and the most supple muscles."

She ran her hands up and down the boy's legs, gently kneaded his calves, his thighs, his firm buns. She pressed her fingers into the muscles of his lower back, massaged his upper back and shoulders.

Greta wanted to lean over and lick her son, to bite his flesh. She wanted to eat him. She had never in her life lusted this way over any other male. She massaged his feet, then kissed them, tempted to chew on his toes.

"Darling, you must turn over now."

"That's all right," Patrick said. "I've had enough."

"Darling, you must turn over." Greta used the tone of voice she'd always used with her children to communicate that she was giving an order which must be obeyed.

"Yes, ma'am," Patrick said. He knew he had no choice.

Holding his breath, keeping his eyes closed, sucking in his stomach as if trying to make his cock recede into his slender loins, Patrick flipped over. He settled back, his legs spread, his hands clasped behind his neck. His gigantic hard-on was pulsating wildly.

"You have a magnificent body," Greta said, "so slim and sleek, so muscular. You could pose for sculpture."

Patrick slowly let out his breath. His entire body was flushed and hot. As his mother began to spread warm oil up the fronts of his legs, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Relax, darling," Greta said.

The boy was trembling, quivering from head to toes. His muscles felt like living creatures under his skin. Sweat trickled from his armpits. The muscles of his chest and stomach stood out as if carved in stone. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. His cock towered up from his groin. Close-up, his cock appeared even larger to Greta than it had appeared through the glass of the two-way mirror.

Greta's hands shook as she stroked up the boy's legs, shook as she rippled her fingers over his belly muscles. He shuddered as she stroked his nipples and worked her fingers down into his armpits. She was leaning close over him, almost close enough to kiss him. The masculine scent of his armpits made her head swim.

She quickly moved back to the other end of the table before she lost all control and threw herself on her naked son.

He arched up, stretching, pointing his toes as Greta massaged his feet. His cock swelled even longer and thicker, its foreskin completely stretched back off its knob, its veins bulging, his egg-sized balls squirming slowly in their hairless sac. Greta braced his sole against her lower belly as she stroked his toes. His heel was pressed to her pussy-mound. She was shaking so much she could hardly coordinate the movements of her hands. Suddenly, she could not control herself a moment longer. She leaned over and started sucking on her son's toes.