Hot Summer Housework with Mom

"Cool – let's see it." We scooted closer together, hips and thighs now touching. Mom put the large hard-cover book between us – on both our laps.

"St. Teresa of Avila, Preparatory Academy for Girls," I read from the elaborate seal on the front cover. "Wow that's a mouthful!"

"Yeah – that's the long-winded way of saying, "Catholic School," she chuckled. "We were partners with a boys school in the next building... 'Saint John of the Cross Preparatory Academy for Boys'. We were always having events together. Going to Mass, and dances and games. It was basically the same school – except boys and girls had separate classes." Mom opened the book and leafed wistfully through the pages, chatting about this friend and that.

Her yearbook was from 1988, and the school was in the Bronx – so there was a lot of big hair. But it was, overall, a pretty small school – so, in addition to the standard yearbook head shots, there were plenty of filler photos – most of them in color - of the students doing extracurricular stuff, sports and just horsing around. "So where are you Mom?" I asked, growing just a trifle bored.

"Look, I'm right here," she tapped a group shot, "The Debate Club!"

My eyes scanned the photo and locked onto the face of my then-18-year-old Mother-to-be. There she was – seated amongst a handful of similarly attired young ladies. It was a cool photo – because they were all laughing. Then it struck me... Oh my God. She was so pretty! Not just pretty... stunningly beautiful. They were all seated on, or leaning against a table – my mom at the far right wearing a brown turtleneck sweater, her tartan skirt, and long dark socks and loafers. Her cascading brown hair was pulled back from her temple by a narrow hair-band. Her bright, laughing eyes looked directly into the camera. Her full lips, her generous mouth... I was seeing my Mother in a way I never had before. As a peer. She was 18 in that photo. I'm 18 now. This is a girl I would be absolutely smitten by if I went to school with her.

"We used to call ourselves the 'Master deBators'... that was always good for a laugh." She flipped some more pages and landed on her official head shot. Again – so beautiful – like a young Marisa Tomei. Mom's lips bowed in a Mona Lisa smile; her dark eyes sparkled with wit and mischief.

Mom continued to flip through the book – and I could feel myself falling in love with this delightful young woman. I felt myself longing to be her boyfriend. To laugh with her. To share private moments of joy and sorrow. To protect her. To kiss her deeply. To love her. And to be loved by her.

On through the rest of the book she flipped, pointing out pictures of her and her friends. Tucked into the back of the yearbook were some loose photos... out-of-school photos, her goofing around with friends. When not at school, Mom had a penchant for big hair and tight jeans and skirts. In some photos, she'd be wearing heavy lipstick and eyeliner, holding a cigarette – looking tough and sexy as hell.

"Damn Mom, you were so cute! I bet you had all the guys asking you out."

"Not really! I was pretty book-ish... quite shy actually."

"Did you have... like – a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, well I mean – I only had two real 'boyfriends.' But the first was early-on and he didn't last very long. The second was only pretty much toward the end of senior year. So there was a long stretch there in the middle where I was just... single I guess. But I hung out with friends, and I went on plenty of dates and stuff."

"'And stuff'?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Stop it – I was a good girl! Don't believe everything you hear about Catholic school girls!"

"Like what – that you know how to give the best head?"

"Oh my God!" Again, she playfully pushed me – but this time, she pressed her tits against my arm. "You are so fresh today! Maybe I should have sent you to Catholic school – teach you some discipline!" Again she made a whip-cracking sound and laughed.

"Damn – I wish I went to school with you back in the day, Mom!"

"You're so funny. Why? Would you have asked me for a date?"

"I totally would have asked you for a date – absolutely. You were so damn pretty, Mom! And you still are – I mean, even more-so now – but back then – damn, so hot..."

"Shhhh," she said playfully, "don't hurt yourself." She leaned back a little, looked me up and down, and said, "I would have dated you too, Honey. I would have loved to have dated you." Suddenly, the word 'Dated' seemed charged with extra meaning.

"Me too, Mom... I would love to have dated you... I'd have dated you... so hard."

In the span of a breath, her expression went from confusion to shock, and then to bemused outrage – as she once again pressed against me and pushed in jest. This time her right leg ended up draped across my lap. The underside of her thigh – resting against my engorged bulge.

"Well, I would have dated you too Baby... so very hard. All night long..."

She smiled a naughty little smile, looking me in the eye. Then her eyes shifted around the room and fixed on our reflections in front of us. Opposite us, was a closet that had two mirrored sliding doors. She and I – and the entirety of her bed – were reflected in those mirrors.

"We would have made a good looking couple," said I.

"We sure would have, Baby." Mom was looking at our reflection, her eyes roving hungrily over both of our visibly aroused bodies.

"Your body is so fine, Mom. I bet you'd still fit in your old school outfit," I nodded at the neatly folded bundle of clothes in the box next to her.

"What my uniform? Oh get out... You think?"

"Most definitely. Why don't you try it on."

"Well, see – now you got me wondering..."

8.

Mom lifted the bundle from the box, placing it on her lap. She flipped through the items... a crisp, white button-down shirt... a dark blue and grey Tartan plaid skirt. Long, navy blue socks. And, still in the box – a dark brown cardigan sweater, with the school crest... and a pair of worn leather loafers. "Do you really think it will still fit?"

"Only one to find out Mom."

"Okay – but you have to promise not to laugh at me if it doesn't fit." She stood in front of the mirror. Putting the clothes down on the bed.

"I won't laugh Mom – I promise."

"Good. And don't look at my ass either!" She kicked off her sneakers, bent at the waist, and pulled her yoga pants down to her ankles, and over her feet. As she bent, her firm, shapely cheeks parted, revealing that pink thong as it passed gently over her just barely hidden anus. The pink lace nearly disappeared between her generous labia. On either side of that lacy strand, Mom's lips spread like the dewy petals of a rose... vibrant pink toward the center, a rich golden olive tone toward the outer edges. And between those glistening lips, Mom's thong was darkly saturated with an abundance of juicy, creamy mom-nectar.

"Hey I told you not to look at my ass!"

"I'm not Mom. I'm looking at your pussy."

She stood up quickly, looking at herself in the mirror – before exclaiming, "My goodness, sorry – I didn't realize I was so... exposed." She quickly tucked herself back into the skimpy material and straightened out the soaked thong as much as possible. "Now, hand me that skirt."

Dutifully, I complied, and Mom stepped into the skirt and pulled it up to her waist. She smiled as the waistband hooks clicked home comfortably. "So far, so good." She pulled her camisole off over hear head, looking at me in the mirror. "Now the shirt please."

In no time she had the simple white shirt tucked in and buttoned up. And though it fit well, it was clear that Mom had indeed filled out in one area... her tits. Her lace-clad dark nipples pressed urgently against the thin white cotton shirt. She undid the top three buttons. "Ah that's better – let my girls breathe!"

Then, Mom was looking in the mirror and adjusting the height of her skirt. "This is how we were supposed to wear it." She showed me the hemline – about 3 inches above her knee. "But when we wanted to be a little wild, we'd wear the skirt like this..." Mom hiked up the waistband of her skirt – nearly to her ribcage. The hem line ascended a good 4 or 5 inches – exposing the lovely olive skin of her shapely thighs.

She sat back down on the bed and pulled the long dark socks up her well-turned calves. Every so often, her skirt would ride a bit high, and I'd get a glimpse of that pink lace between her legs. Mom didn't seem to mind.

Standing, she slipped into her penny loafers. Turning, she looked at the box once more. "Ah – there it is." She held up a narrow tortoise-shell hair band. Undoing her pony tail, Mom bobbed her log dark hair up and down a bit, and then put the hair band into place. It gently framed her temples, while her locks flowed freely down her neck and shoulders. I've always loved that fact that Mom has a well-defined widow's peak – which makes her look just a little bit wicked – in the best possible way.

But, something about that hair-band just made everything click, and it was as if I was looking at my Mother in 1988. She looked so young, so pure and pretty. So full of optimism and hope. And, simultaneously, I saw my Mother as she is now. So smart and fun. Still optimistic, hopeful – but more tempered by life's experience.

"My God Mom. You are so beautiful. I wish I could... take a picture of you."

"Thank you Sweety. I think your phone's on the dresser – if you want to snap a few pics." Wow – I couldn't believe Mom didn't mind me taking photos. I couldn't pass up this opportunity. So, I grabbed my phone and got the camera ready. At first, Mom struck a goofy thumbs-up pose. Then she sat on the edge of the bed – legs extended... looking up at me thoughtfully. I snapped a few shots of her. Then she moved back on the bed a bit, bringing one thigh up to rest on the edge and exposing most of her inner thighs. She bit her lip and looked directly into the camera. And I continued to snap away, thrilled with the direction this was heading. "Okay Ansel Adams – photo-shoot is over. Oh, and hey listen – those photos you just took are private. No social media – no showing friends... Got it? For your eyes only. And my eyes too – I want to see them! " Mom laughed.

"Here, sit down, I'll show you." Mom sat next to me, our bodies resting comfortably against one another. We scrolled through the handful of photos on my phone, and when we were done, Mom said, "Those are fun – thanks for taking them. Maybe we can do more sometime."

"I would love to, Mom... In fact if you don't mind, there's just a couple more I'd love to take now."

"Now? Like what kind of photos? Oh wait... I bet I know what you want." She paused in thought for a moment. "I am only doing this because you were such a big help today... and I'm very appreciative."

Mom leaned back away from me on the bed, spreading her legs, and lifting her hemline to present a full-on view of her crotch and her pink lace thong.

"Is this what you wanted to photograph, Honey?"

"You know me too well. Thanks Mom!" I stood up and began taking more shots – varying my distance and my angles. Mom looked into the camera, her tongue gliding across her upper lip. She was even fine with me taking a few closeups of her damp thong-clad crotch. I knew these photos would provide me with hours of masturbatory stimulation. I wanted to ask her to show more – but wasn't sure how to, when Mom said, "Let's put the camera away for now, Baby."

"Sure Mom." I laid my phone on her nightstand, and sat back down next to her. She, however, made no attempt to close her legs or cover herself.

"So do you like seeing me in my school uniform, Honey."

"I love it Mom."

"I'm not sure the priests would be too thrilled with my choice of underwear though." She allowed her right thigh to rest lazily on my lap.

"Well," I replied sardonically, "I bet more than a few of the nuns would be thrilled to see you like this."

Mom laughed, "You don't know how right you are about that!" She rolled her eyes and smiled. "What about you though, my Son? What am I gonna do with my naughty boy who wants to see his Mother this way?" Her thigh pressed lightly against my erection.

"Maybe you could let me touch you?"

"Touch me? Where Baby?"

"Right there," I nodded, "between your legs. You know how hard I've been all afternoon. Now, I want to know how wet you are."

My words seemed to strike a chord with Mom, who subtly shifted her pelvis closer to me, opening her legs just a trifle more. I allowed my eyes to roam over her brazenly – taking in every erotic detail. The saturated, semi transparent lace of her thong literally clung to the fullness of her womanhood – revealing so much – yet maintaining such a thin veil of mystery.

"Oh Baby, I don't know about that... It's such an intimate thing... to touch your Mother like that... down there..." For all of the wanton, provocative display of her sexuality, I could see that Mom still genuinely struggled with the implications of this situation.

"Mom, what if we tried something? You know how we were saying that we would have made a great couple, and how we would have loved to date each other and stuff?"

"Yes."

"Well... what if we just pretended for a little while – that I'm your high school boyfriend. Say maybe we've dated a few times, but never had the chance to spend real quality time together. And now finally, we are hanging out in your bedroom, and there's nobody else home, just us... and..."

"Okay, that works!" she interrupted. Smiling, she closed her eyes and said, "You can touch me now." Outside, we heard the long, low rumble of a thunderstorm approaching.

9.

My pulse pounded in my temples like a jackhammer. I couldn't believe this moment was happening. It felt hyper-real – like a dream. With my right hand, I reached across and I touched my Mother between her legs. At the moment of contact, I heard her draw a deep breath, and her pelvis pushed forward. Her right hand caressed my shoulder. My fingertips slid over the pink lace of her thong – pressing ever so lightly against the firm bud of Mom's clitoris. Over the hump of her pubic bone, my caress traveled the deep cleft of her labia – down to the base of her vaginal opening. I pressed my fingers firmly against her soft flesh, feeling her heat, feeling her moisture, as the thin lace sank between her butterfly lips. I began to rub her with a circular motion – opening her up, spreading her wetness beyond her inner lips.

Mom's eyes were still closed, her brow knit with pleasured concentration, her parted lips slightly pursed. Sliding my fingers beneath her saturated thong, I continued to rub her fleshy labia and eager clit. Mom moaned softly, reached down and pulled her thong to one side, tucking the thin strand in place under her butt cheek.

For the first time, my Mother's pussy was now completely on display for me. Her right thigh rested in my lap – pressing against my cock. Her left thigh – wantonly draped over the edge of the bed. I paused for a moment just to take it all in – marveling at the wonderful sight of my Mother's vagina... the very source of my existence. Mom had a small, closely trimmed landing strip of dark pubic hair. Both her clitoris and her labia were fleshy and swollen, glistening with moisture. Her inner lips were parted, with strands of gooey cream between her rose-flushed petals. I could even see her cute little puckered anus presented proudly to my enraptured eyes.

"Do you like what you see, Honey?" Mom's soft voice called me from my reverie. She was looking into my eyes , a small sensual smile on her lips.

"Mom – it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life!" She laughed, and I put my hand to my mouth, "Oh shit – sorry Mom – I guess I shouldn't be calling you 'Mom' – I mean if we're supposed to be pretending and all..."

Her smile broadened. "It's okay, Baby – I don't need to pretend anymore." She gently reached down taking my right hand, and pressing it back to her pussy. "Now touch me some more, Son. Touch Mommy's pussy."

She didn't have to tell me twice. I firmly slid my middle and ring fingers both into Mom's eager twat. Her back arched, her head went back, and she ground her pelvis down against my hand. "Oh fuck yeah," she groaned, rocking back and forth on my long fingers. In no time, Mom's pussy was making wet squishy sounds as my fingers stroked in and out of her. Outside the rain finally began to fall with the sudden heaviness of a summer thunder shower.

I pulled my two fingers out of Mom's snatch and looked at them. They were coated with the thick sheen of her sticky juices. Raising my fingers to my mouth and looking Mom in the eye, I sucked them clean of her tasty honey. She tasted fresh and clean, and dirty and nasty all at once. And I wanted to taste her more.

With authority, I pressed my fingers back into her vagina – sliding them deep up to my knuckles. Mom ground her juicy cooze onto my hand once more with an intoxicating undulation of her hips.

Once again, I withdrew my two fingers – covered in her honey. This time I offered them to my Mother's mouth. With a lustful flare of her nostrils, Mom grabbed my wrist and guided my fingers to her mouth. Our eyes met as she eagerly bobbed up and down on my fingers, savoring the taste of her own horny cunt.

Without hesitation, we leaned in close and kissed each other – Mother and Son – with open mouths and probing tongues. Our tongues swirled, dancing together, and I tasted the sweet saltiness of Mom's pussy in her mouth. And she tasted her own sweet nectar in my mouth. Continuing our deep kissing, I managed to fully unbutton Mom's blouse, exposing her tits – which were pressing so eagerly against her pink lace bra. Mom slid her bra straps down past her shoulders, fully exposing her tits and incredibly swollen nipples.

Again I dipped into her wet quim, and pulled forth my two slippery fingers. This time, I grasped her left nipple with my slick fingers. I pinched and pulled on her dark bud, using her own lubrication to stiffen and elongate her already turgid nipple. Repeating the process, I dipped into Mom's twat once more before rubbing and pulling on her right nipple "Oh God damn, Baby," Mom whispered, "you keep this up and you're gonna make me cum!"

"That's what I want Mom... I want to make you cum." With that, I reached down once more and inserted my first three fingers deep into Mom's cunt. My Mother squealed like a school girl and pushed right back with her tight pussy. With my thumb, I strummed her prominent clitty back and forth. With my three fingers, I drove deep in and out of Mom's sweet little fuck hole. With my pinky, I reached down and tickled her taut little asshole.

"Do you like that Mom?" I asked as I slid the first two knuckles of my pinky into her ass.

"Yes, Baby...I fucking love that!" said Mom breathlessly.

Looking at her face, I noticed that Mom's eyes were fixed on our reflection in the mirror in front of us. Following her gaze, I too immediately became transfixed by that reflection. I saw Mom's whole figure – her loafers and knee socks, her shapely thighs spread wide, her pink thong pulled to the side, her skirt bunched up high at her waist, her pelvis rocking and grinding against my large hand. The sinews in my forearm rippled as I fingered and stroked my Mother's engorged and dripping pussy. Her white shirt wide open, her bra and tits on full display. Mom leaned back a bit to her left, and began rubbing her nipples with a her right hand. We continued to stare at the mirror, making eye contact with each other's reflections. Somehow my Mother – even with her uniform in total disarray looked so pure and innocent. And at the same time, she just looked so radically slutty – grinding passionately against my fingers. She started grinding with more intensity. I rubbed her clitoris faster with my thumb, fingering her deeply with three fingers and pressing her slick anus with my pinky.