8. Welcome to Oral, Your First Time? (1)
A week had passed since Mom's first handjob for me. There weren't any major changes to our daily routine. After a light breakfast, I'd hit the gym to pump iron while Mom did housework or chatted over coffee with the neighborhood ladies. Then came lunch, followed by our mother-son yoga and massage session.
A few things had changed, though. For starters, the frequency and intensity of our physical contact had ramped up. The morning after that handjob, I hugged Mom from behind while she prepped breakfast in the kitchen, grinding my morning wood against her plump ass. She just smiled sweetly, greeted me good morning, and took it all in stride.
Since she'd already jerked me off once, I didn't bother hiding my raging hard-on in my pants anymore—in fact, I flaunted it proudly. And Mom? I'd stare openly at her stunning figure without a hint of shame, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She'd tease me about standing at attention all the time and told me not to stare so intensely, but it was all playful scolding.
"I mean, can you blame me? Mom, you're just too gorgeous and sexy," I'd grin cheekily, and she'd laugh along, nodding in agreement.
"Haha, true, I am pretty enough to make my own son swoon."
One time, I stepped out of the shower buck naked and paraded around the living room. Mom freaked, smacking my back repeatedly—"Have you lost your mind?!"—leaving red handprints all over before I retreated to my room to get dressed. Going full nude around the house would have to wait for another opportunity...
During yoga and the follow-up massage, I got bolder about groping Mom's body. For example, while helping her into a pose, I'd press my hard cock firmly against her ass or her thick mound. When holding her in a prone position by wrapping my arms around her waist, I'd slyly slide my hands up to grab those luscious tits.
Any other woman—especially a mom—would've jumped in shock and chewed me out, but Mom just grumbled, "Stop poking me with that hard thing," before teasingly brushing her hand or thigh against my crotch while adjusting my pose.
And then the massage proper. My hands kneaded her thick, juicy body outright, rubbing my cock all over her massive ass cheeks and thighs. Mom's reactions evolved day by day too. The lewd scent wafting from her pussy beneath those cheeks was now strong enough to smell without burying my nose in it, and her slit grew long and slick from top to bottom, staining her leggings.
At my urging, our massages expanded from back-only to full-body front side too. Under the guise of "massage," I fondled her water-balloon tits to my heart's content. Those huge, firm breasts spilling out between my fingers never got old no matter how much I squeezed. Like those liquid slime toys that were all the rage with kids once—Mom's tits were my personal slime toys.
Especially since she wasn't wearing a bra over her clothes, I could feel every bit of their firmness, warmth, and those perky pink nipples poking right through. Each time my palm grazed a thickened, hardened tip, Mom—eyes closed, savoring the "massage" (caress)—let out a soft sigh.
For me, blissfully groping away like this, there was just one frustrating limit: I couldn't knead that plump pussy mound. After her tits got the green light, I'd eye Mom cautiously and slide my hand toward her crotch. But just as my fingers traced down that vertical slit...
Something stopped me. Mom had opened her eyes, shaking her head desperately with pleading eyes, grabbing my hand right where it pressed against her core.
Seeing that, I pulled back from her juicy mound and returned to massaging her breasts. Me, craving loving incestuous sex with Mom—would I charge in like some rapist bastard after that desperate look? Hell no.
Still, that first full feel of her pussy—the plump texture, the warm wetness—poured fuel on my desire to fuck her.
Sometimes after my massage, Mom would thank me by returning the favor. With me face-down, she'd work my back, waist, and legs, subtly grinding her crotch against my thighs or calves.
She always showered afterward, and those showers were getting longer. The bathroom door stayed locked, so I couldn't peek, but she was clearly soothing herself—her flushed face when she emerged was proof enough.
After dinner—just the two of us—once I'd finished the dishes, came our new unofficial "happy time," all mine. I'd plop on the sofa next to Mom watching TV, cock tenting my pants, and her hand would softly stroke my thigh.
One little prompt from me: "Mom, help me out."
Without a word, eyes glued to the screen, she'd knead my bulge over my pants. When I stripped them off, she'd grip the shaft and start proper jerking.
[Schlick~ schlick~]
The wet, lewd sounds of her hand on my cock mixed with our heavy breathing and the TV noise, filling the living room. Pent up from groping and being groped by Mom all day, my dick twitched like it could burst any second. At the end, I'd squeeze her tits or ass hard as I came.
I'd warn her first, so she'd catch the spurting load from my piss slit with prepped tissues, then milk out every last drop along the shaft. She'd wipe her creamy hand and my cock clean with wet wipes, tidy up, then chat with me while watching TV—mostly sex talk.
"When did my boy's cock get so huge? Your future wife’s gonna love it~"
"Mom, your lower body's insane—wide hips, that full, voluptuous ass like a Western model."
Stuff like that. Once, I grabbed a tape measure from my room and suggested checking her big ass size. She said it had been ages since she'd measured, then stuck it out for me.
The result? A whopping 42 inches (about 106 cm)! Knowing the number made that already mouthwatering ass look even more tempting—a true rarity for an Asian woman, like a blessing.
After our weird mother-son banter wrapped up, we'd say goodnight and head to our rooms. But our day wasn't over yet.
From that first handjob night, Mom masturbated every single night without fail, leaking those pitiful moans. And it was getting more intense—fiercer writhing, harder fingering of her pussy hole. All signs pointed to her frustration building by the day.
Last night, she even used a fat radish she'd gotten who-knows-where, plunging it into her crotch while calling for Dad nonstop. Soaked in her pussy juice, it glistened under the bedside lamp's dim light as it pistoned in and out.
"Ahh... honey, what do I do... at this rate, I'm really gonna..."
Confirming Mom's burning desire like that, a week flew by. I was convinced it was time for the next step, so today I planned something new.
We went through our usual routine—gym, yoga, massage, groping each other's bodies under those pretenses. Dinner done, before dishes, I ducked into the bathroom (well, really the laundry area) and jerked off with the black mesh thong I'd "accidentally" found in my laundry yesterday and pocketed.
Luckily, horny from Mom all day, I shot my load easily, finished dishes, and hit the sofa.
The routine played out: thigh strokes, "Help me, Mom," pants off, handjob. Fifteen minutes in, Mom had switched hands multiple times—her arm must've been sore—but only precum oozed from my tip, no cum in sight.
[Schlick-schlick-schlick-schlick]
"Whew, this is tiring~ Son, what's wrong with it? You're not holding back, are you?"
"Nah, Mom, it feels amazing."
"Then cum already. My arm's gonna fall off~"
She started urging me on, clearly exhausted. Her handjobs were pure bliss, but after a week of them, my virgin cock had gotten used to it—and with my pre-cum shot today, I wasn't blowing easily.
"Mom, you tired?"
"Yeah! If you know how worn out your mom is, hurry up and cum!"
"Thing is, it feels so good right now, but it's just a little short of enough to finish... So, uh, could you maybe suck it? Just once?"
Mom's hand froze on my cock, her eyes going wide.