"I saw mom sucking" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allen Donna)

CHAPTER TWO

Clay was infatuated with his mother. He was lying on the bed in his room, thinking about her. He always thought about her. His mother had become his obsession. He thought about her whenever they were separated. When they were home together, it was much worse. Then he had to look at her. Looking at her always meant that sooner or later he would get a hard-on. He had dreams about fucking her. Daydreams and night dreams.

He always chided himself for it. He told himself a guy shouldn't think about fucking his mother. But how could he stop what went on in his head? He was popular with girls his own age, but they never turned him on the way his mother did. His mother really got to him. For as long as he could remember, she'd been the most important woman in his life. Then when he got to be twelve or thirteen, he started thinking about her sexually. Now he was eighteen, and it was worse than ever.

She was so sexy. He adored everything about her. He never thought about any woman except his mother when he jerked off. There wasn't anything about her that he didn't like. She had such a beautiful face. She had fabulous tits and a lush ass and the sleekest legs. He liked her best in high heels. He was crazy about her legs when she wore heels. He had dreams about sucking her tits. When he met a teenaged girl with tits like his mother's, the girl always became someone special for him.

You'll drive yourself up the wall, he thought. He was already doing it. He knew damn well he was already climbing the wall.

In the beginning, he used to think he was a pervert. Then he decided the hell with that shit, he didn't care. His mother turned him on and

there was nothing he could do about it. Anyway, he'd talked to a counselor about it once, and the woman had said every boy in the world is turned on by his mother. So she said. Clay wasn't so sure. He thought maybe she told him that in order to make him feel better. He wasn't sure of anything except what he felt about his mother. He had to accept it.

Now he was hot again, thinking about her. He focused his mind on her tits. Sometimes, he could see the outline of her nipples when she wore a thin blouse. She had tits like ripe melons. Not too big-but big enough. He imagined her tits drooped a little because of their weight. That was what he liked. He liked her tits drooping a little. With nipples that stuck out.

His cock twitched in his jeans and he pulled his zipper down to give it some room. He stopped thinking about his mother's tits, and then he thought about her ass. Now there was something to think about. Luscious! Like two beach balls kissing each other. A narrow waist and a full gorgeous ass. What could a guy do with an ass like that? He could fuck it, he could kiss it, he could lick it, he could lose himself in it! Whenever she wore tight jeans, he wanted to bury his face in the crack of her ass and stay there forever.

And her legs! Beautiful feet, slender ankles, full calves. In high heels and nylons, her legs were a marvel. She had the most beautiful legs in the world. He loved when she wore spike heels and a tight skirt.

He unzipped his fly. He pulled his cock out of his jeans and started pumping it as he thought about his mother's body. He wondered what she would think about his prick. A little blonde he dated said he had a beautiful cock. She said he had the sexiest cock she'd ever seen. Seven and a half thick inches. He wondered what his mother did for sex. He knew she had some kind of sex life. She had men friends who took her out. She went to parties sometimes. He tried to imagine some guy fucking her-and he clenched his teeth with jealousy.

She could have his cock anytime she wanted it. He'd stick his prick in her ripe pussy and fuck her brains out. She didn't need some stranger fucking her. She could have her own son.

You re a weirdo, Clay thought. You're a goddamn weirdo!

The one thing he could be thankful for was that his mom didn't latch onto some guy and stay with him. She never had a steady boyfriend. She would date a guy for a while, but eventually she always broke it up. She told Clay she liked

her life. She said she was happy. She said she couldn't imagine getting married again, and that was always just what he wanted to hear. She belonged to him and to no one else. No one else had any right to her.

What he wanted was to see his mother completely naked. He'd seen almost all of her tits once. She sometimes wore lounging pajamas with a plunging front, and one time he was sitting on the sofa and she bent aver the coffee table in front of him. He saw nearly all of her tits hanging there under the pajama top. Big fat nipples!

He squeezed his cock as he remembered it. His piss hole was dripping. He smeared the precum over his cock-knob as he thought about his mom's tits.

What he wanted to do was watch her strip down to high heels and pantyhose. Sheer pantyhose that would show her cunt bush and asscrack. Black pumps with spike heels. That full ass molded by the sheer nylon. He stroked his cock as he thought about spying on her, How could he do it?

Maybe it was possible. Maybe there was a way he could do it. Actually do it, instead of just fantasizing about it. Drill a hole through the wall? She'd find out. No, the only way was the

terrace. The two bedrooms had windows on the terrace. The French door that opened onto the terrace from the living room was down on the end. Each bedroom had a window on the terrace, and if he was careful he could climb out there and peep through her window. Provided her shade was up enough so that he could see into her bedroom. If he did it at night, no one on the outside would be able to see him. He could secretly watch her from the terrace. He wondered if he ought to chance it. There would be hell to pay if she found out. But he was desperate to see her naked.

He wanted a good look at her cunt. Wide open. Like the cunts he saw in the magazines he had. Her wide-open, dark-haired cunt. Everything showing. Her cuntlips, her clit, her cunt hole. Sometimes the models in a magazine showed the juice in their pussies. That always turned him on. All that hot pussy juice making the cunt gash slick and slippery. He liked sucking his girlfriends. They said he was a good lover. They said he knew how to suck pussy. He'd never seen the cunt of a woman his mother's age. Only in photographs. She was still young, but she was no teenager. He was hungry to look at her pussy. He thought about sucking her off. He thought about being her slave. He

would lick her legs and thighs and then he would zero in on her cunt. He imagined her groaning under his mouth. If she would ask him to suck her asshole, he would do that, too. He would gladly eat his mother's ass. He thought of her ass. He thought of her tits. He stripped her naked in his mind and fucked her. Yes, he would try the terrace. He had to. He had to do something. He imagined looking at her, seeing her at last.

The jism boiled out of his balls, foamed out of his piss hole. The cock cream shot out in thick spurts as he came. He groaned as he pumped his prick.

Now he had cum on the front of his jeans and they'd have to go into the wash. He cursed himself. You stupid fucking asshole! Jerking off with your clothes on. He hurried to the bathroom to clean up. He thought about the terrace again as he wiped his prick. Maybe tonight. Maybe he would try it tonight.

Then he heard the front door slam shut- and he realized his mother was home.

"You look tired," she said.

She smiled at him. He'd come out to the living room to turn on a ball game. She teased him about looking tired as she stood near the kitchen, sipping a Coke. Then she said she

wanted to get her clothes off before she did anything about dinner. She left him.

She came back again in ten minutes, wearing a short silk wrap-around and a pair of high heeled mules. She still had her pantyhose on. The robe was modest enough, knee-length and a dark pink in color. As far as he could tell, she was still wearing a bra. He couldn't see anything of her nipples as she moved back and forth between the kitchen and dining area. Just her ass and legs. Dark gray, almost black nylon pantyhose. Sexy as hell! The nylon was sheer against her firm calves. After no more than a few minutes of watching her move around, he could feel he was getting a hard-on again.

They had dinner together and talked about their day. Barbara liked to think of them as friends. Not just mother and son, but real friends. She always asked him about school, about his friends, about the music he liked. She always told him he was the most important thing in her life, and she wanted to know everything about him.

After dinner, he went to his room and closed the door. He felt guilty. He felt like a rat for thinking about fucking his mother. For thinking about spying on her. But he couldn't help it. He was so turned on by her, it was driving

him crazy. He had to try the terrace tonight. His cock was like a bar of iron in his jeans. A fresh pair of jeans. Next time, he'd get his pants off before he jerked off.

He passed the evening in his room. He watched television on the small set he had. He thought about his mother. He looked at a few skin magazines. He liked the women when they looked like his mother. He liked it when they showed everything. At times, he imagined the wide-open cunt the girl was showing was his mother's cunt. Would she smile like that when she showed her cunt? Maybe she would. He wondered if she showed her cunt to her boyfriends. He imagined playing with her pussy, sticking two fingers inside her cunt and getting her off. The girls he dated said he had a nice touch. He knew how to rub a clit while he had his fingers in a cunt hole. Sticky fingers in a hot pussy.

Finally, he heard his mother go into her bedroom. It was late. She'd be in bed soon. She had her own bathroom connected to her bedroom. She never came in to say good night when he had his door closed. She said everyone was entitled to some privacy. Tie knew she usually turned the light out in her room thirty or forty minutes after she went lit for the night. She

watched television or she read a magazine or a book. He knew the whole routine. She was in for the night now. If he intended to use the terrace tonight, it was time to do it.

Once again, he felt guilty. Then he told himself he was going to do it. He was going to do it now. There was no use pretending. He told himself not to be chicken about it. He had to chance it. If the shade was up just an inch, he'd be able to see everything.

He started shaking as he moved to the window. He had to stop to get hold of himself. He couldn't go out there shaking like a tree. Finally, he calmed down. He carefully opened the window an inch at a time. It was a warm night. When the window was opened wide enough, he carefully eased himself over the windowsill and onto the terrace.

A black night. Just a few stars, and no moon. He realized it couldn't be more ideal. There was no reason why he couldn't pull it off if he was careful. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he crawled along the terrace to the window of her bedroom. Only a few feet. He felt as though he'd been waiting for this moment for years and years. Now he was shaking again. This time, it was anticipation. He stopped moving. He waited until he was calm again. He crawled

forward.

Then he was there, at one side of her window.

The shade was up just a crack at the bottom. Just enough to see. He moved a bit more. His heart was in his throat as he looked through the crack. He could see nearly the whole bedroom. And there she was.

She moved suddenly and he pulled back. His heart was pounding in his ears. She'd be damned angry if she ever found him at it. He hated it when she was angry. She would give him the silent treatment, not talk to him for days, until she decided to forgive him. But this would be more serious than anything he'd ever done. This would be a big thing between them if she ever found out.

It didn't matter. He was pulled toward the window again. Just on the side. His eyes at the crack between the bottom of the window shade and the bottom of the window. There she, was again. She was still wearing her robe. She had her back to him. She was doing something at her dressing table. Puttering with her jewelry. Then his breath caught in his throat as her arms moved and her robe suddenly came off. Completely off. She tossed it onto a nearby chair.

He trembled. The view was perfect. She wore

a white bra and the dark pantyhose. Her lush ass was completely revealed by the sheer nylon. Sheer all the way up. The crack of her ass was clearly visible. She kept her back towards the window. She stepped out of her mules. With a deft movement of her arms, she unhooked her bra in back and slipped it off. Then her pantyhose. Her hands were tugging at the waist, pulling the nylon down over her hips, down over her thighs. She stripped one leg at a time, her body bent, the movements quick and certain, and then she straightened up again and tossed the pantyhose onto the dressing table.

For the first time in his life, Clay saw his mother completely naked. Just the back. Her back and ass and legs. His heart beat like a drum in his chest. He wanted to see the front. He was afraid to breathe, afraid she would suddenly vanish.

Then finally she turned. She turned her body in profile to the mirror above her dressing table. She looked at the mirror. She pulled in her stomach and cupped her tits in her hands.

Her gorgeous tits! He could see her tits and part of her cunt bush. Her tits were a dream. Big and heavy, the nipples arrogant. She had a round belly, and below that was a forest of dark pussy hair.

He was crazy with excitement. Nothing had ever been so exciting for him. He watched her as she examined her figure in front of the dressing table mirror. She still had her tits in her hands. Then she released her tits and ran both hands over her belly, pushing it in. She briefly ran her fingers through her cunt bush, then moved her hands around to stroke her asscheeks.

He had a knot in his throat. He gasped as he realized he had to breathe. He watched every movement as she lifted a magazine from the dressing table, as she walked over to the bed and stretched out on the bedspread. She was a dream! The most beautiful woman in the world, naked on a bed not ten feet away.

His knees were hurting, but he was afraid to move. He didn't want to move. He didn't want anything to change. He was afraid that if he shifted his body, the whole thing would disappear. He continued watching her as she turned the pages of the magazine. She had one knee raised, the knee closest to him, and because of that, he couldn't see her cunt bush anymore. But he could see her tits, the hang of her tits and her thick nipples. His mouth watered. He told himself he'd give both arms away to get one of those tits in his mouth.

Then she raised the other knee and his eyes popped out of his head as she slipped her free hand between her thighs. Oh no, it couldn't be. But it was. He could see everything. She was playing with her pussy. Stroking it with her fingers. Then she started rubbing her cunt. He could see her hand moving up and down as she rubbed herself. Her thighs fell open. She had her thighs spread wide as she vigorously rubbed her cunt.

Finally, she put the magazine down and concentrated on her pussy. Her eyes were closed. She had a look of intense pleasure on her face. Clay cursed under his breath. He forgot all about his hurting knees. He was too excited to care about his knees. She was jerking off! It was more than he'd bargained for. Instead of just seeing her naked, he was actually getting to watch her whack off. It was crazy. His own mother! He had never thought about her that way. Not jerking off. What a turn-on. He trembled as he watched it.

Her fingers were flying now. He couldn't see much of her cunt, just her hand and wrist jerking up and down.

Then she bucked her ass and turned her head to one side. He heard her groan. She was coming. Her arm was a blur as she brought

herself off. It was maddening for him. He watched to the end of it, watched until she pulled her hand away from her cunt and rolled over on her side. She pulled at the bedspread and covered her body with it.

The youth couldn't take anymore. He crawled back to his window. He climbed into his room and lay down on his bed, gasping for breath.