Omelettes for Breakfast Ch. 02

Chapter 1 of Omelettes for Breakfast described surreptitious sex play among a mother, son, and daughter while preparing hubby's breakfast; he was unexpectedly delayed in leaving for the office. Aiming to write one page story I only briefly alluded to the back story. While not among my biggest hits, it was generally well received and several readers requested a prequel. Since I'd already confected much of the back story in my head it was relatively easy to write one. Here it is.

The mother is based on a woman I knew in college. She was pretty, but complained about her small breasts – she didn't think they went with her curvy body – and what she called (I did not agree) her mousy brown hair. We were occasional lovers, helping each other out between boyfriends or after a party, and while fun, she was conventional in bed. She graduated, moved several states away, and months later came back for a visit. I met her at the airport: she was blonde, "C" breasted, and on fire. Back at my place she was all over me; we barely got out of bed the rest of the weekend. The boob job and highlighting had freed her inner slut.

As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * * *

I did not recognize the car parked in front of the house. The door mat had reversed the door mat; it now faced the house. I checked the time. Mom would be home in half-an-hour, my sister knew that; whatever she had going on inside was wrapping up.

I could have gone to the coffee shop and waited, but I'm as curious (or nosy) as the next guy. I rolled my bicycle around the back, stuck my head inside, heard the upstairs shower running, ducked into the den, left the door cracked open. I was goofing on my tablet when my sister, wearing a robe, and Moa Berg, one of mother's hot friends – five foot, nine inches, 31-22-34, short brown hair, small round breasts, large wonderfully expressive blue eyes – came down the stairs. They kissed, one of those long indolent wow-was-the-sex-great-we-need-to-do-it-again kisses, and said good-bye.

Then Clara turned, stared straight at me, and said, "You're busted baby brother."

Emerging from the den I said, "How did you know?"

"That door was closed when Ms. Berg and I went upstairs."

I said, "You're observant," kissed her lips, "Moa Berg, huh. She tastes hot, is she hot?"

She said, "Very. You should take a shot at her; she's bored with her husband, wants to try new things," then kissed me, teased my tongue with hers. I slipped my hand inside her robe, ran my thumb over her nipple; she pressed her leg to my erection; the garage door opened. Fuck, Mom was home.

She walked in to my sister and I, the picture of innocence.

"Hey kids. Your Dad called, he's running late. Dinner will be delayed."

"Good, my baby brother wanted to show me something on his computer, now we'll have time. We'll be upstairs."

We moved when my sister took off for college nine months ago. In the new house the master bedroom was downstairs, mine and the guest (my sister's when she was home) upstairs. My parents rarely came upstairs, especially since I kept it neat and clean. Clara and I would not be disturbed.

* * * * *

It would have been a nice day to have a smaller car for we, even Clara, struggled to haul ourselves up into Mom's SUV. Clara had an audition tomorrow and partly to get ready and partly to work off nervous energy, she'd pushed herself through a work-out brutal even by her standards. It wouldn't be true to say Mom and I kept up, that would have been impossible, but, inspired by Clara we'd worked hard. We were pooped.

At home we showered, changed, and I, being the first one done, fixed three protein-laced smoothies.

What happened next might not have happened any other day of my life. It was a serendipitous confluence of events: the hard work-out spiked our endorphins, I was feeling my oats (I scored Moa Berg that morning (my sister was right, she was some hot)), and the fact that someone asked. Mom and Clara came out of my parents' bedroom wearing leggings and sleeveless tanks that left little to the imagination, Mom saying, "Why can't I get my ass as tight as yours, I've been trying for years."

Clara, with her dancer's butt, round and hard, said, "It's genetic, you're curvier than me. I take after Dad's family. And your rump's fine, ask your son."

They looked at me.

My mother had never asked for my opinion of her ass before.

I loved my mother's ass; it had the most delightful jiggle when she walked by.

Handing each lady a smoothie, I stood behind Mom, studied her butt (as if I hadn't been for years), asked her to tighten it up (she did), and said, "Clara's right, you have a great ass."

Mom opened the utility closet, which had a full length mirror on the back of the door, studied her backside, studied her body, then gestured to her chest. "Maybe you guys are right, but my curves don't look right with me being so flat up here."

Mom's dissatisfaction with her breasts was no secret. She'd mentioned them, and augmentation, on and off for years. Dad didn't seem to take her seriously, assuring his wife he liked her just the way she was, but in a passing way, more "Dear, I'm tired of talking about this," then, "Dear, by the time I get done with you tonight you'll know what a fine a piece of ass I think you are."

* * * * *

At dinner several days later Mom and Dad both were distracted. That was the norm for Dad, his mind invariably drifting back to the office or his golf game or who knows what. What was going on in Mom's head only became clear when, while serving dessert, she said, "Honey, I've been thinking about having work done on my chest."

Before Dad could respond Clara said, "You should Mom, as hard as you work to keep in shape, eat right, hit the gym, take care of yourself, you should have the body you want. Plus, not that I don't already have the world's hottest Mom, but you'd look fricking amazing. What do you think baby brother?"

I, a bit taken aback to be asked in front of Dad, went with the flow.

"Clara's right Mom, as dedicated as you are to keeping fit, as pretty as you are, you deserve it. Plus it would also look great with your figure. Whatta ya think Dad?"

My father, bewildered by the turn in the conversation, said. "The kids are right dear."

* * * * *

The procedure was scheduled for the afternoon but Clara and Mom left early, saying they had a surprise planned. I'd meet them at the out-patient facility. Since Mom was in good hands, Dad went to work.

In the prep room I discovered why they'd left early, Mom had her hair highlighted and straightened. Where there was once, like my sister, thick curly auburn locks, there was now a blonde. She'd also talked about doing this for years, believing blonde hair went better with her pale complexion, and seeing was believing, she looked great.

"Wow Mom, you were right about the color, it's perfect with your skin."

Mom turned, showed me the back, and said, "You really like it?"

"Yeah, may I touch?"

"Go ahead."

I ran my fingers through her hair, did the same with Clara's, and said, "The same wonderful thick texture. You look great."

Mom said, "What do you think your father will say?"

That set my sister off. "What will Dad say? Who cares? I don't notice him at the gym, eating right, taking care of himself. You look great, you know it, Steven and I know it, that's all that matters."

* * * * *

The procedure finished, Mom, blanket covering her, was home in bed. Dad was with her.

"How do you feel?"

"Groggy. What do you think of the hair?"

"It's nice dear."

"My breasts are all ugly, sore and bruised. I'm not sure I should have done this."

Absent-mindedly patting her arm, Dad said, "It'll be fine dear."

* * * * *

Clara was with Mom.

"Let me see 'em!"

"I don't know, they're bruised. Maybe I shouldn't have done this. Are you sure?"

Clara said, "Fuck yes," Mom opened her gown, and Clara said, "Ohmigod, look at the shape, my god they're fricking perfect. You look so fricking good. Maybe I should get mine done."

* * * * *

Prior to my visit Mom pulled the blanket back over herself.

"Y'know Mom, the more I see your hair, the more I like it. It already seems like your natural color. You were right, you should have done it years ago."

"Thank you son."

"And how are your breasts? My sister tells me the augmentation was a raving success, that they look, you look amazing. Do I get a peek?"

"Thank you, but no. I was disappointed when I first saw them, they're bruised and sore."

I lay a hand on her shoulder, kissed her, and said, "Well, it may suck now, but the bruising and soreness will go away and I, for one, am dying to show off an even hotter Mom."

* * * * *

Mom was in the bathroom, looking in the mirror. The swelling was gone, the bruising was gone. She'd read breasts might be desensitized by the surgery. She squeezed them, stroked the nipples, felt it through her body, squeezed them again, felt it in her toes.

She tipped her left breast upwards and licked the nipple – that was something she couldn't have done a fortnight ago – felt the sensation flood her body. She did it again, with the flat of her tongue, goose bumps erupted on her skin. She looked around, as if there might be a stranger in the bathroom, then sucked on the nipple, tickled it with the tip of her tongue, pushed a hand inside her jeans. Her clit was hard and quivering. The kids were going to a party tonight, it would be just she and her husband. She hoped her new breasts revved up his engines. She needed a good fuck.

Then she heard Clara's voice: "Mom let me in, I want to see them."

Embracing the opportunity to show off the goods Mom jerked her hand from her pants, mock complained, "Can I get no privacy in this house?" and unlocked the door.

"Ohmigod, they're gorgeous, perfect, perfect size, perfect shape. How firm are they?"

Giddy with her daughter's reaction Mom said, "How firm? I feel like a teenager again."

"Can I, can I touch them?"

A pause, then, "Sure."

Hands open, Clara covered Mom's breasts and squeezed, starting with a gentle touch, but growing more assertive, enjoying the firm ample flesh, noting how they swelled in her hand.

Sliding her hands to the side Clara then ran her fingers over the turgid nipples and said, "Wow, you do feel like a teenager. Are they as sensitive as ever?"

Clara knew the answer to her question: Mom's shudders, gasps, hard nipples, and the smell of her arousal had answered it, but still Clara smiled when Mom said, "Yeah, maybe it's just because I like them so much, but they seem more responsive than ever."

Continuing to fondle Mom's breasts, feel them flush with blood, the nipples and areolas harden and heat up, Clara said, "Yeah, I can feel them trembling in my hand."

* * * * *

That night Dad was not in the mood. After he went to bed Mom, frustrated and resentful, turned the lights down low, sat on the living room couch, switched on a favorite vibrator.

* * * * *

When Mom said she was ready to return to the gym Clara and I decided to surprise her with new work-out clothes. We'd looked at several things when Clara said, "Bingo."

It was a sleeveless tank top. One side was a uniform white, the other a mesh top. Seeing the confusion on my face Clara said, "It's reversible, you can wear the mesh in the back and show off your shoulders and upper back or in the front over your favorite sports bra and show off the boobies. It goes perfect with the gray leggings and pink bra we looked at earlier. We'll get two."

"Two?"

"Yeah two. In case you haven't noticed, Mom's a little skittish about showing the girls, concerned about how people might react. This way she and I can dress alike, it will dilute the attention, make her more comfortable.

* * * * *

Spin class over, Mom was mopping the sweat from her face when she felt the instructor's hand on her back.

"Girl, they're something else, lookin' good."

The comment reflected the general consensus.

* * * * *

Two anonymous guys, embarrassed when I caught then staring at my mother's chest, filed out; Mom, Clara, and I had the sauna to ourselves.

I said, "See Mom, there was no reason to worry, they were, you are a hit."

Clara said, "Yeah Mom, they're beautiful. Everybody was checking you out. And now that we're alone, why don't you show 'em to Steven,"

Mom said, "I can't do that. Can I do that?"

Clara said, "Sure you can, no one will know and I'm sure my baby brother is curious. After all, I talk about them all the time. Am I right Steven?'

"Yep."

Mom looked around, as if someone might be obscured in the clouds of steam, then pulled her towel away.

Clara said, "So baby brother, what do you think?

"Spectacular, amazing, beautiful shape."

I wasn't puffing.

Clara reached over, held one. "Firm too. Mom, you should have done this years ago. Why don't you let Steven touch them?"

Mom said, "That's going a bit too far."

I leaned back on my bench and said, "You always liked Clara best." Mom heard some noise outside and wrapped the towel back around herself. No one came in, however, and I pretended not to notice Clara, her arm laying across Mom's shoulder, occasionally running a finger on the top of Mom's breast.

* * * * *

From that day forward I felt free to comment on Mom's looks, her clothes, her breasts, with words like "hot" and "sexy" and "bodacious," phrases formerly verboten. I touched her more, let my hands linger longer.

Clara was far ahead of me. The two of them consulted on clothes, dressed together, grew comfortable with each other's barely clothed or naked bodies. Clara would urge Mom to show off, wear clothes tight and revealing. When my opinion was sought I never advised caution.

There were two Moms. When she went out with Dad, she was the old Mom. Lounging around the house, or going out with Clara, or me, or both, she was a major hottie.

And the three of us did more and more together.

* * * * *

It was a Wednesday night, Mom's birthday. The three of us were going to dinner, then heading for Minerva's. Minerva's was Clara's idea. It was the town's hot lesbian bar, but, my sister said, the cool straights had recently discovered it. They were okay, sort of pets, but it presaged the day when the uncool straights showed up and ruined the place. It was now or never.

When Clara suggested it I had my doubts.

"Does Mom know you dig women and men."

"Sure, I don't hide that from anybody."

One of my eyebrows went up.

"Okay, except Dad."

Clara was right, Mom jumped all over it. It was, I realized, a place where she could cut loose without worrying about running into neighbors and friends.

* * * * *

I dressed in my room, headed downstairs. Yesterday Mom and Clara had returned to the house toting several shopping bags, a cat that ate the canary grin on their faces, and the tease that I'd see tomorrow, that it'd be worth the wait.

They were in the kitchen. While Mom talked to Dad on the phone, "Thank you for the flowers dear. I understand work calls, you had to be out of town. We'll get together as a family this weekend. Tonight the kids are taking me to dinner, I expect we'll be late, don't wait up for a call," I checked out my sister. She was wearing skin-hugging fashionably-ripped jeans, a tight black long-sleeved off-the-shoulder pull-over shirt, and boots. Mom was even more out there: leather mini-dress whose spaghetti straps and low neck line riveted your attention on her chest, four inch stiletto heels held to her feet by ankle and toe straps, and a gold necklace, I think; the jewelry I don't recall all that well.

They'd also been right; it was worth the wait.

Mom had dressed like a woman who wanted to be ogled and, in return, I made no effort to hide my covetous gaze. When Mom put down the phone she smiled at my obvious interest and said, "How do I look?" I said, "Let me look," walked around her body – damn her butt looked fine – and said, "Hot as shit."

"And your sister?"

I moved behind Clara, wrapped my arms around her shoulders, pressed my erection to her butt, and said, "My sister, as always, is a big-time babe."

* * * * *

We ate at a trendy, and very good sandwich place, I enjoying the people checking out my dates, wondering how I got so lucky. Clara and Mom, digging the attention as much as I, put on a show: flirting and teasing, touching me, wiping bits of food from the corners of my mouth, straightening my hair and shirt, leaving every guy there wishing he was me.

* * * * *

As we approached Minerva's Clara said, "It's a Wednesday, it should be relatively slow, we'll get noticed. We're on a first name basis. We start dancing with you in that dress, calling you Mom, people will freak, that's a little too kinky even for this place. Mom, keep your wedding ring on, let everyone think your husband is out of town and you're dipping your toe on the wild side with me and this young man. We'll keep the exact nature of our relationship ambiguous, are you with Steven, me, or both, but make it clear you're leaving with us. These women can get pretty aggressive, you don't want them calling the house.

"And Mom, in that dress, there'll be some inappropriate touching."

Laughing, Mom said, "Maybe that's why I wore it."

My sister was right, while Minerva's was busy, it was still not the weekend crowd and everyone noticed when my two hotties and I entered the room. By the time our drinks arrived Clara was dancing with a heavily tattooed brunette, her writhing body and bubble ass catching everyone's eye.

I danced with Mom; we were relatively tame. Then a blonde cut in and the two of them quickly got untame, the woman running her hands on Mom's body, Mom returning the favor. Asked to dance by a spike-haired redhead, I saw Mom dancing with someone new, a lot of flirting, a lot of touching. Clara had been right; Mom, safely anonymous, was enjoying stretching her wings.

With the next song I danced with a new partner, saw Mom and Clara dancing together. Clara was putting on a show, bumping and grinding on Mom, and Mom, although not Clara's equal, did a pretty good imitation.

Song followed song; we danced, at times with each other, at times with strangers. Mom got more brazen, and got ever more brazen attention until, after a couple of hours, Clara pulled us aside.

"It's time to get out of here. I asked the owner to play something slow. I'll dance with her. I want you two to dance together, tight and sexy, put on a show."

"Why, what's going on?"

"Mom, half the women here are in love with you, the other half, it's lust. Who can blame them, as good as you look, as sexy as you move, if I wasn't your daughter, well shit. Everyone needs to understand you're not in play, that you came with me and this young stud, you're leaving with me and this stud, and you're gonna rock our worlds. It's clear this big-titted, leather-wearing, smoldering-hot blonde is having a good time; it better be equally clear that will be the ones putting out the fire between your legs. Dance, make them believe it. The last thing we need is these women tracking you down. You want to explain them to Dad?"

Scanning the crowd, imagining Dad finding them at the front door, Mom said, "I see your point. Ready to put on a show Steven?"

I wrapped an arm around her waist and said, "Yep."

The music started. Clara danced with a pretty petite blonde and I pressed my body to Mom, placed a hand on her hip, intertwined the fingers of my other hand with Mom's, held them on her shoulder. We moved across the floor, my erection grazed her stomach.

Sliding her hips on me she said, "It's impressive son, I can see why you're so popular with the ladies. Tell me, why do lesbians turn guys on?'

I said, "Good question, don't know the answer. I hope you're enjoying your birthday half as much as I am. I've loved watching you dance in that dress. It's hot as hell."