Unspoken Pleasure

“No, I am,” Dad said, looking at his glass. “I’ve found that I can have four fingers of whiskey before I take my pills, and then I’ll be out for ten hours straight. Not even a thunderbolt from Zeus could wake me after that.” Dad looked at his phone. “It’s six now; I’ll be out by eight and up by six-thirty, well-rested.”

“As long as it’s safe,” I said.

“Between you and me,” Dad said, lowering his voice, “I need the rest. I went to the gym today to work on my cardio. Your mother has been wearing me out the last couple of days.”

“Ah, Dad,” I said. “Why would you tell me that?”

While the words that left my mouth sounded like the response a good son might have given, on the inside, I thought, I wish we could brag about Mom to each other. Was I odd for wanting to share my mother with my dad? I had glossed over several incest stories in the last few days, and they were always about sons who stole their mothers from their fathers, but I loved my dad. What would it be like to have Mom walk around naked for us, taking her whenever we wanted, or having Mom give us blow jobs while we watched sports together? What would it be like to have Mom as our sex slave?

“Hey,” Dad said, “if I have to hear about how my son is trying to have sex with his girlfriend then you can listen to me brag about my sex life.”

“What if grandpa talked to you about grandma?” I pictured my grandmother, who was sixty-three or four. She belonged on any magazine with a Sexy Over Sixty cover story. My grandma had a Jayne Seymour-like appeal with a fit, older woman’s body… what would it be like if we double-teamed his mother together? Oh, man, I had really become fucked up in the head.

“I’d ask him,” Dad said, “‘So, old man, how much Viagra do you have to take to get your willy up?'”

“Ah, man,” I said, laughing. “Why do you always have to top me?”

“Because,” Dad said, “I can’t make these kinds of jokes at work anymore since #MeToo, though it seems to be dying out, doesn’t it?”

“You were topping me before #MeToo came along,” I said, heading toward the kitchen.

“Check on dinner for me, thanks.”

“Stick to your four fingers tonight,” I said as I walked through the shortcut hallway.

I found Mom in the kitchen, standing at the island with her back to me. She had her long hair pulled up in a swirling bun gathered at the back of her head with loose strands hanging about in a sexy, I’ve just-been-fucked, kind of a mess. Had my father fucked her while I was upstairs? The idea made my dick swell all over again.

Mom was wearing a thigh-length, loose-fitting dress-shirt made of blue cotton with a wide collar and long sleeves that she had folded back to her elbows and a tie belt at the waist. I knew that dress. I knew that it buttoned down the center in the front. The cotton was soft but thick enough to hide her nipples and dark enough to hide any wet spots from her lack of panties.

I stopped at the end of the hallway and said, “I think that you should show me that you’re not wearing panties.” Despite my calm voice, a chill ran up my spine. My dad wasn’t far away, and though we had fooled around on the couch with Dad sleeping nearby, I wasn’t sure if Mom would surrender herself to me with him awake in the living room.

“Where’s your father?” Mom asked. She reached her right arm forward, picking up the glass of white wine sitting in front of her. She brought it to her lips and drank, helping herself to a long swallow of alcohol.

“On the couch, waiting for dinner.” I licked my lips and opened and closed my fist, stretching my fingers. “Should I tell him it will be ready in ten minutes?”

“Five,” Mom said. “If you tell him ten, he may come in here and try to will his food to finish faster, but if you tell him five, then it might take him ten.”

“Dad,” I shouted, “you got five minutes!”

“Thanks!” Dad yelled back.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“I could have done that,” Mom said, tilting her head as her shoulders shook with mild laughter.

“Show me your ass,” I whispered to my mother, eyeing the way her cotton shirt dress hung atop her ass, giving off faint impressions of its pear shape and curves and the crack of her ass.

“But your father….”

“I’m making you do it,” I said. “You have to.”

Mom set down her glass of wine. She reached back with both of her hands, grabbing the sides of her dress. The fabric bunched and twisted as her fingers pinched the cloth against her thumbs, and with a small hip shuffle, she dragged her dress up the backs of her thighs.

My hard-on grew, thickening and pushing my shorts outward, the lack of my boxer briefs allowing air to flow between my thighs and around my balls, giving me a light exposure that made me shiver. The crease between the backs of Mom’s thighs came into view, then the bare flesh of her cheeks, her pussy shadowed by her butt and dress, the dimmer lighting, and the angle of my gaze. She raised her dress to the small of her back, then gathered the material and pulled it forward, tightening the hem of her skirt around her waist.

“There,” Mom said, accusing me of something with resentment in her voice. “Now, what are you going to make me do?”

“Stand still and listen for Dad,” I said as my heartbeat rose.

“Okay,” Mom said, the sound of the TV seeming to come from a great distance away.

I walked forward, hooking my thumbs into my waistline as I did, tugging my shorts outward and downward, freeing my big dick, and hooking my shorts beneath my cum-filled balls. The kitchen’s air tickled my sack and cooled my knob, providing a breezy thrill before I pressed my spongy mushroom tip against Mom’s ass and slid upward through her crack, resting the underside of my shaft between her warm cheeks.

“Oh,” Mom said, louder than I thought she would. “Not that away!” She tried to slide away from me, but I caught her hips and pulled her ass hard against my cock, smashing my rod between us.

“Yes, this way,” I said, “listen for Dad.”

“Uh,” Mom grunted as I pulled my ass back and pumped my cock forward, hot-dogging her ass cheeks with the thickness of my slightly curved cock. “Turn me around”–she uttered a struggle-sounding moan as she tried to push herself away from the kitchen island–“so I can watch for your father!” She spoke softly but in a rush of words punctuated with a tremor of adrenaline.

“Listen for him,” I whispered, lowering my lips to her exposed ear and then licking her behind her lobe. Mom shoved her butt hard against my cock, wiggling her hips by dancing on her toes. “Listen to the TV. He’ll turn it off.”

“He better,” Mom whispered. “The things you make me do!”

“I’m going to make you do a lot of things, Mom.” I humped my cock faster between her cheeks, my balls making little plops of sound as they battered the bottom of her butt. “Naughty things. Nasty things. Things Dad won’t do to you. Things that’ll make you feel like a dirty whore when you’re doing them.”

“Yes!” Mom hissed, her entire body shuddering and her breath shaking. She reached back and grabbed onto my hips, using the new leverage to fuck her ass against my cock with twisting motions that made my knob tingle.

I slid my lips down the back of my mother’s neck and bit the curve of her shoulder, tugging on her skin as her breathing turned ragged. She let go of my right hip and brought her hands between her legs. I slid my hands around her waist, her dress resting on my forearms as I pushed my hands up her smooth stomach, over her ribs, and cupped her little-titty handfuls, her dress rising and leaving her as naked as Rebecca De Mornay’s sexy nymph ass in the first fuck scene of Risky Business.

“Mmm, fuck, hurry,” Mom huffed. “Hurry up and come on me!”