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I’m Mark, an 18-year old student. I live with my widowed mother in a big, rambling house overlooking Blackheath Common in South London. We’ve lived here since I was four, when Gramps and Grandma moved to a retirement cottage on the South coast. The place has been in the family for generations; one of Mum’s ancestors, a celebrated Victorian artist, bought it. It’s worth an absolute fortune, and the sensible thing would be to sell it and move somewhere smaller, more modern and easier to heat, but Mum and I love the place too much for that.
Mum works as a commercial artist. Dad died when I was 11, I think from a drugs overdose. Mum was a bit of a pothead at that time too, but she’s not touched a drug, not even alcohol or tobacco, since then. She’s never had another man since Dad died either. I couldn’t understand that: she’s still young — she was only 19 when I was born — and I think she’s quite beautiful, with a sort of pre-Raphaelite beauty. She’s tall and slim with long chestnut hair, an aristocratic face with arched eyebrows, bright hazel eyes, high cheekbones, a slim nose and full red lips. She never wears make-up, she doesn’t need to. She dresses down — long skirts, and dark colours — but even so, I don’t know any women who I think can match her looks. We’ve always been very close. I once asked her why she didn’t have a boyfriend. She put her arm round me, hugging me to her, and said, “I already have one sweet man in my life, and he’s all I need for happiness.”
I suppose I’m not really in any position to talk. I’ve never had a serious girlfriend, and none at all since I was 16. I have friends, male and female, at college, but nobody special. I spend most of my spare time tinkering with electronic stuff — computers fascinate me — or with Mum, whether just enjoying TV or music, going to the theatre, or taking a stroll on Blackheath. I also like exploring the house. With just the two of us there are rooms we haven’t used for years, which we keep closed to reduce the heating bills, but they’re full of old furniture, even clothes left by the previous occupants of our home. One of my favourite spots is the huge attic that runs the length of the house. It’s a real treasure trove of our family’s history, full of the sort of junk that tends to be sold in flea markets described as ‘bric-a-brac’. Even my first rocking horse is up there. It’s a warm, dry, quiet place where I occasionally go to just lie on a slightly moth-eaten old mattress and let my mind wander wherever it chooses.
One evening recently I was in the attic, poking around some of the most distant, undisturbed corners to see if there was anything interesting I’d missed over the years. There’s a weak electric bulb fitted into the rafters, but I had a torch with me to be on the safe side. As I flashed the beam across one particular nook something caught my eye. I ran the torch back slowly, and saw a gilt picture frame, holding a dark, grimy portrait. I’d never seen if before, and decided to investigate it. There were a couple of mouldy cardboard boxes in front of it, and I started to drag one of them out of the way. It burst, spilling several spools of film onto the floor boards. Seeing those, I quickly lost interest in the painting. A vague memory — completely forgotten until that moment — had popped into my head, of my father filming me when I was a little boy at the seaside.
I thought these must be those films. There were about 20 in all. I thought I would love to see them, and imagined Mum probably would too. I remembered seeing an advert in the local paper — something like ‘preserve your film memories for ever’. It was one of those display ads which appear week after week, and was for a service transferring film onto video tapes. So, a few days later, when Mum was out of the house, I trailed up and down our several flights of stairs with armfuls of films, loading them into my battered old Mini Cooper. Then I drove across South London to the business address of the advertiser.
It was a tiny photo shop, with barely any space to move between cameras, displays of film, faded posters of toothy blondes in garish bikinis, and the counter. A bell attached to the door rang when I entered with one of the film spools, and a slightly seedy looking bloke aged about 40 came through from an office at the back. He took the spool from me and held if up to the light, peering at a portion of the film. The price he quoted seemed reasonable, so I agreed. I had to wait two weeks before he ‘phoned me to say my tapes were ready. Excitedly I drove over to his shop again and he greeted me with a cheery grin. “I’ve put the family stuff on this one” — he handed me a tape — “and the, er, other stuff on this one.” He leered as he said that, and his smile widened further as he saw the look of bewilderment on my face. “Oh, you haven’t seen them then? Well, aren’t you in for a surprise! I should have charged you extra for that one.” I handed over his cash and hurried out of his grubby little shop esenyurt anal yapan escort as quickly as possible, still perplexed by his comments.
I felt quite excited that evening as I slid the first tape into the player in my bedroom. I’d decided to watch the family stuff first, not knowing what was on the ‘other’ tape. The first thing I saw was my third birthday party: Grandma helping me to blow out the candles on my cake, lots of laughing children I didn’t recognise, Mum hugging me, a happy family occasion. There were quite a lot of seaside scenes — Mum paddling with me, me riding a donkey, me fishing in a rock pool, Dad swinging me above his head…that last one was a bit shaky, suggesting Mum was less familiar with the camera than Dad. There was no sound on the films, but my mind filled that in to match the pictures. Each scene was quite short, but they made me feel happy with nostalgia and sad at the same time. Even though I hadn’t been a small child when Dad had died, my memory of him was a bit hazy, and Mum looked so happy as she smiled into his camera.
It was quite late into the night when, mildly intrigued, I slipped the second tape into the player. Within seconds I was wide awake and sitting bolt upright in bed. The opening shot was of a woman’s naked bottom, round and dimpled. It slowly swayed away from the camera, towards an old bed — the one in Mum’s room! Dad was lying on the bed, completely nude and clearly in a state of high sexual arousal. I saw the woman’s face in quarter profile, and confirmed it was a much younger version of my mother. As I watched open-mouthed she straddled Dad and began riding him, as he reached up and clasped her breasts in his hands. Mum ground slowly up and down on him, her head rolling around, then gradually increased her pace until she was bouncing wildly up and down on Dad’s cock. As she pitched forward to lay full length on top of him the scene ended.
I sat in the darkness in a state of shock. I couldn’t believe that I was watching pornographic images of my parents. The camera was in a fixed position, so I assumed they were doing the filming themselves. Before I could react further the next scene started. This one showed Mum giving Dad a blow job. It was filmed in extreme close-up, just Mum’s face, Dad’s cock and his balls. I couldn’t stop my mind creating sounds for the images: not laughing children and the lapping sea this time, but Mum and Dad moaning with lust, and slurping sounds as her lips slid up and down his prick.
I was watching the tape in horrified fascination now: I couldn’t have turned it off to save my life. The third film was a detailed study of Mum, as she lay naked on their bed. Her happy smiling face, the eyes slightly unfocused, as if she’d just been smoking a joint; her small, plump boobs, the reddish brown nipples erect; the pale, slightly goose-pimpled skin of her body; the inward curve of her waist, flaring out to her hips; her pubic bone, entirely shaved of hair; her slim thighs. As I watched, Mum parted her thighs and raised her hips towards the camera, displaying the puckered pink lips of her vagina. Her hand appeared and one of her fingers extended, pressing between her lips and beginning to stir around…I ejaculated as that film ended. Without even realising I was doing it, I had tossed off watching my mother’s lewd display of her naked body!
There were several more sex scenes before the film ended, all but one featuring Mum and Dad. The other one showed Dad energetically fucking a plump young girl with long blonde hair, who seemed to be screaming with laughter. With shock, I realised I vaguely remembered her — she was Danish, and had been an au pair with us for about six months, then had suddenly left. The camera was in a fixed position again, and I wondered whether Mum knew Dad had screwed the girl, and filmed himself doing it. When the tape ended I guiltily hid it in a shoebox at the back of my wardrobe.
I didn’t sleep well that night, and the next morning, when I went down to breakfast, the moment I saw Mum I felt my face turn scarlet with embarrassment. I couldn’t look her in the eyes, and stared into my cereal bowl. She clearly realised something was wrong, and asked me a couple of times if I was okay. As she was about to leave for work she looked with concern into my face, brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, and said, “You don’t look very well darling — perhaps you should give college a miss today.”
I did go to college, but I had the greatest trouble concentrating. Every time I let my attention slip I saw Mum’s finger sliding into her pussy, her lovely breasts, her sweet face — only her face was not that of the young girl on the tape, but Mum as she looks now. As soon as I saw Mum that evening I blushed again. She was wearing one of my favourites of her dresses, a figure-hugging black velvet sleeveless one with quite a low neckline. I gulped as I felt my cock stiffen at esenyurt escort the sight of her. At dinner Mum tried with increasing desperation to ignore my mood and start conversations, but I simply gave monosyllabic answers to anything she said which required a response. I just couldn’t look at her without shame for what I was feeling for her. Shortly after dinner, I excused myself, mumbling something about a heavy day at college, and slunk up to my bedroom, trying to ignore the hurt look in Mum’s eyes. That made me feel even worse, as I hate upsetting her.
In my room I managed to wait for about 20 minutes before I could no longer resist pulling out that video tape and turning it on. I fast forwarded it until I got to the study of Mum and, as her succulent lips blew a kiss at the camera I guiltily pushed my jeans and underpants down my legs. The camera was just passing across the image of Mum’s navel when the door of my bedroom opened softly and, framed by the hall light, there stood the lady herself! I was mortified. Not noticing at first what I was doing, she started, “Mark, darling, if I’ve done something to…oh Mark baby, I’m sorry, I did knock.” Her eyes were fixed on my hand, curled around my dick.
She was about to withdraw in embarrassment when her gaze shifted to the TV screen and she stopped dead. I scrabbled at the remote control of the video, trying to switch it off, but instead I froze it — on the image of Mum’s pussy, thrust towards the camera. I prayed she would think it was just a general porn tape, and that she wouldn’t recognise it, but how could she not? Wishing I could shrivel up and die on the spot, tears of shame forming in my eyes, I blurted, “Mum, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I thought they were just holiday films…I wanted to surprise you…I mean…”
Her eyes still fixed on the screen, she sat beside me on the bed. She said nothing for about 10 seconds, and I hardly breathed. Then she turned her head and smiled at me, and said, “That’s all right darling, I’m not angry, really I’m not. I understand. It’s really quite flattering that you find your old Mum so attractive — at least, the way I used to look.”
Without thinking, I said, “Mum, you’re so beautiful, much more beautiful now than you were then.”
She drew her head back and looked at me quizzically. Despite the awful situation she’d found me in there seemed to be something almost playful in her eyes. She said, “Oh darling, I don’t really — do I?”
I nodded. “Yes, I think you’re lovely. You were pretty when you were young, but you were a girl. You’re face looked, I don’t know, bland, undeveloped. Now you’ve got the face of a beautiful mature woman. I don’t know anyone more beautiful than you are now.”
She smiled, and the little laughter lines around her eyes — which I loved — crinkled. She put an arm around my shoulders and pressed her cheek to mine. “Oh darling, thank you.” We sat like that for a moment, then she said, quietly, “You know Mark, you’ve grown into a very handsome young man. So like your father…” I gasped in shock and I felt her hand brush my own off my prick — I’d been so shaken that I hadn’t even thought to put it away! A moment later I shuddered as her long, warm fingers closed around my shaft. She softly stroked them up and down me, and whispered, “So very like your daddy — perhaps even a little bigger if anything.”
My eyes closed, and my breath began to come in ragged gasps. My mother was the first female to touch my manhood since I had learned to dress and bath myself. I couldn’t remember it ever feeling so stiff. Her cheek still pressed against mine, Mum said, in a sort of dreamy voice, “I’d like to kiss it. May I?” Unable to speak, I nodded. I felt the warmth of her face separate from mine and, a moment later, a quite incredible sensation engulfed me as her lips closed around the tip of my cock and slid down the shaft. As the most exquisite feelings rippled through me I stared down in disbelief at Mum’s chestnut hair splayed out across my bare thighs, then up at the TV screen, and the image of her pussy rearing up at me.
As Mum’s tongue twirled around my knob I knew I wouldn’t last long. I wanted to touch her intimately, but I was scared. Hesitantly I slid a hand down inside the back of her dress, and rested it on her warm, silky back. She arched her back slightly, pressing it against my hand as I massaged her soft skin with my palm. I gently scratched her back with my fingernails and she moaned in appreciation, and started to pump her lips up and down my cock, her tongue grazing the underside. Moments later my hips jerked several times, and I came into my mother’s mouth. She continued to lick and suck me for maybe another minute, lovingly stroking my inner thigh with her fingertips. Then she sat up and hugged me to her. She kissed my cheek and whispered, “Thank you. Goodnight my darling.” Then she walked to my bedroom door, turned and blew me a kiss, and closed the esenyurt eve gelen escort door behind her.
The following morning I lay in bed half wondering whether it had been a particularly vivid dream. I went down to breakfast nervously, not sure what Mum would say about what had happened. That it was a mistake that we must forget? That it had all been my fault, for intruding on the privacy of her relationship with Dad? That she wanted me to skip college that day so we could stay home screwing each other’s brains out? In fact, she didn’t refer to it at all. When I entered the kitchen she said, “Good morning darling”, and gave me a big hug and a peck on the lips, which was unusual. The only other unusual thing was that, when I called her Mum the first time that day she said, “Sweetheart, I think it’d be nice if you called me Angie from now on, don’t you?” I cupped my hand over hers and told her I’d like that very much. All through breakfast it seemed to me that the air was crackling with sexual tension, but Mum, sorry, Angie didn’t seem to notice.
All day I thought about her, and wondered what would happen that evening. I was far too nervous to make a move, so it would depend entirely on how Angie felt. The evening passed completely normally. Angie was wearing black jeans and a dark plaid lumberjack type shirt. She was perhaps a little bit more affectionate than normal, giving me several hugs, kissing my cheek a number of times, stroking my hair…maybe she was testing the water, waiting to see if I would take the lead. By the time I went to bed my whole body was tingling, and I thought I would need to spend hours wanking before I could relax enough to get to sleep.
In fact I’d only just slipped beneath my bedclothes when there was a soft tap on the door and Angie entered. She sat on the bed beside me and, with a smile, stroked my fringe from my forehead. Then, as I passively watched, she pulled the bedclothes down to my thighs. Gazing at my groin, she said, “You know darling, you really do have a very beautiful prick. And lovely big, hairy balls.” Despite what had happened between us I felt momentarily startled to hear my mother say such things. A moment later, though, the only thing I felt was a surge of joy as her mouth once again closed over my cock.
She tickled her fingertips across my stomach and I shuddered with the wonderful feelings I was experiencing. I was determined to be bolder tonight, and I reached under her body and lightly cupped a hand around one of her breasts, outside her shirt. Without breaking contact with my cock — she was stroking her tongue up and down it, inside her mouth — she took my hand and lifted it from her tit. I thought for a moment I’d somehow broken the rules, but in fact she slid my hand inside the shirt and curled my fingers around her naked flesh. I gently squeezed it, and felt the nipple stiffen against my palm. I fought with all my strength to hold off my orgasm, but after a couple of minutes I spurted again into Angie’s mouth. As before, she continued to caress me with her mouth for a minute or so before lying full length beside me on the bed, her forehead pressed against my cheek. Softly she whispered, “Do you love me baby?”
I couldn’t believe she would ask that; I suppose she just needed to hear it. I hugged her tightly to me, and said, “Oh Mu…Angie, I love you so much, I think you’re incredible.”
She gave me a warm smile, and pressed her lips to my cheek. “And I love you too my darling.” Then she kissed me on the mouth, a lingering kiss with our mouths closed, but just for a second I felt her tongue flick along my lips. I thought maybe we would go further there and then, but Angie stood up, tucked me in, and leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead. She whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow baby, sleep tight”, and left my room.
I didn’t have a lecture at college the following morning, so I lay in bed until after Angie had gone to work, listening to her bustling around the kitchen singing happily to herself. In the evening, when I got home, she greeted me at the front door with a kiss and an arm around my hips. She was dressed more brightly than I had ever seen her, in a red vest top with bootlace straps over her shoulders, and a short white skirt which ended halfway down her thighs. Her nipples made little wrinkles in the vest. The sight of her took my breath away, and I told her I thought she looked stunning. She bumped her hip against mine and giggled, “Do you really think so sweetie? Perhaps I’ll have to dress like this more often — for you.”
She had prepared a lovely dinner, but took me by surprise when she produced a bottle of white wine. She laughed at the look of shock on my face. “It’s all right darling, a couple of glasses of cheap plonk won’t do us any harm. The world’s coming to something if a girl can’t enjoy a bit of fizz with her sweet, lovely boyfriend.” Even though she’d said it laughingly, her use or the word ‘boyfriend’, and the way she was dressed, had fired my imagination almost to overload, and I said a silent prayer that tonight perhaps Angie would do more than just suck my dick. As she sipped her wine, she closed her eyes and let her head roll back in pleasure. She murmured, “God, I’d forgotten how much I used to enjoy this stuff. Your daddy used to call it Angie’s aphrodisiac.”
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