The computer screen froze on what was I thought at first, a comical image of my mother; her slow internet connection buffering, causing her face to be locked in position as her words in the video call carried on. As the seconds drew on however, her mouth open, lips painted red, tongue visible, the suggestive nature of her expression became more pervasive.
That I allowed my mind to imagine her sucking cock, my own mother; or dare I say it, wantonly awaiting a mouthful of cum, was both troubling and exciting at once. Before I'd thought through my feelings (or my actions for that matter), I took a screen-grab of her visage seconds before the video updated and matched her cadence.
"...there's so much you can help me with Will; are you staying one night or two?"
I drew myself back into the conversation, allowing my deviant fantasies to subside for the time being.
"Well I can't get any more hours at work until Monday afternoon, so I guess I'll stay the whole weekend. Come back Monday morning if you'll have me?" I added.
She smiled and it was good to see her happy. Nearly a whole year had gone by since Dad's passing; Mom having taken the insurance left to her and with the sale of the family home in the city, moved to the North of the state, closer to where she'd grown up. I was with her when she'd bought the property. A too big, too old house, full of far too many problems for a single woman, or so I had thought. She however saw it as a way to keep busy. To devote her life to a grand project much as she'd devoted the last few years caring for Dad.
"Wonderful Honey. We can start on the staircase. There's the garden. Those blackberry bushes down at the creek are getting out of hand. The laundry door needs fixing and..."
"Mom stop," I laughed. "You can show me when I arrive."
She grinned once more and again I focused on her mouth. The lipstick. Her makeup in general. She looked good. Really good, and I had to remind myself it was my mother I was thirsting after all of a sudden. I'd been single too long it would seem.
"Alright, I'm sorry," she beamed and lifted a finger to pull a fallen strap of her top back onto her shoulder. Her top. What actually was she wearing? So thin a strip of material, a vast amount of the flesh of her arms and chest exposed, a hint of cleavage. I found myself once more disappearing down the rabbit hole of fantasy. "What time can I expect you?" she asked and I informed her of my estimated arrival factoring in traffic and with that we said our goodbyes. At least we attempted to.
Her hand waved at me as it drew towards the camera on the laptop I knew she was using to video call and I in turn motioned to disconnect our communication, pausing as I saw her tilt the screen downwards slightly, her hand moving away from the computer as she rose.
"Mom, you haven't hung up," I stated and there was no response. Again stating the fact, louder this time as I watched her move back from the desk where the laptop was situated. Immediately I realized the problem. She'd muted me; not ended the call. Accidentally I presumed, but her actions did allow me to answer a question I'd posed moments before.
It was a slip, or more appropriately, a baby doll. White, and made of what I assumed was a translucent nylon. I could've disconnected. Should've, in that I was essentially snooping. A son voyeuristically surveilling his mother's movements, however benign they began. It didn't last. With most of the room displayed now that the camera no longer aimed upwards diagonally, I watched her move to a bookcase, her back to me as she browsed the shelves. Barely covering her buttocks, the babydoll revealed her underwear, the lower cheeks of her ass protruding around the hem of what I could clearly see (despite the relatively low-res camera) were lace panties.
The instinct to disconnect lest she see my face still on her laptop as she turned from the bookcase was overridden by the fascination of watching; of illicitly spying, and leaning forward I allowed the events to play out. Seemingly oblivious to any light from the laptop, she headed to the couch and climbing upon, stretched out across two cushions, her bare legs slightly bent as she opened the novel to a seemingly saved page. Was the show over? I once more called out, a final acknowledgement to my presence now she'd settled and was more likely to hear. Nothing. I sat back in my chair and smiled at her indiscretion, a funny story I'd relay when I arrived the next day. That is, I would've until she moved.
Her free hand, initially upon her belly, slowly moved up her torso until it was upon her breast and there it remained for a moment, still. It could've been innocent I supposed as I once more debated hanging up, the weight of guilt growing on my conscience. What came next clearly wasn't. Lifting her hand to turn a page, she abandoned her breast and set down upon her upper thigh, caressing the thin material that covered her groin for a moment before casually lifting it up her belly to expose her panties.
"Oh Jesus!" I exclaimed and leaned forward, my hand clutching the mouse in preparation of closing the app, my eyes fixed on her now revealed pelvis.
I knew what was happening, what was occurring before me, a foot from my eyes yet a hundred miles to the north, but none of it seemed real. How could it? Whatever way I looked at it though, I was watching my own mother put her hand down the front of her panties. No motion at first, just a bulge in the lace crotch as her fingers I assumed pressed her labia, her hand holding the novel deftly turning the pages. And then action. The movement of her arm, her wrist raising slightly, hand delving further then back.
"Oh fuck!" I exhaled as I acknowledged my swelling, my own hand dropping to my thigh to encourage my growth. "Oh fuck it," I whispered to my empty room as I quickly unbuttoned my pants, unzipping and allowing my now fully erect cock to spring forth.
Pages turned, her hand settling into a steady but measured pace as I in turn stroked my engorged cock. It felt so wrong, spying on my mother masturbating, yet despite the familial connection, the screen somehow made it impersonal. She could've been any woman on any random porn site I supposed. A hidden camera almost or a cam girl performing for her audience, I told myself. But no. Because it WAS my mother, it made it all the more hot, all the more forbidden. My dick about as hard as I got, pre-cum leaking from the eye coating my underside, my eyes fixed on her constantly moving hand.
"I'm muted," I whispered to myself. "Not her!" Taking my hand from my cock, I raised the volume on my computer to its maximum and heard her microphone picking up the faintest sound of her breathing, a sigh as she allowed the book to fall to her breast, her head arching back into the sofa as she quickened her masturbatory pace. I was close, as I furiously jerked my cock. It seemed she was closer. The paperback slipped from her torso to the floor as she slid a hand inside the bust of her babydoll to clutch a boob. Her hips lifted, thrusting into the stimulation her fingers provided, humping whatever imaginary invocation she had chosen or the book had inspired.
"...oh fuck...oh fuck," I heard my mother swear no louder than a whisper, and as I pondered if I'd ever heard Mom say 'fuck' before, I came all over the front of my t-shirt.
"Jesus!" I exclaimed, both at the pleasure and the mess I made as great ropes of semen soaked my clothing. On screen Mom was clearly having her own orgasm, her legs twitching, coming together to trap her hand between her thighs, still deep inside her panties. She'd exposed both breasts, impressive in their size though on her back and separated, and casually she ran her fingertips across a nipple, then the other.
I didn't want to look away. My cock remaining hard, ready to go another round should she choose to continue. I was disappointed when she released the vicelike lock on the wrist in her underwear, and startled into action when she, without warning, rolled off the couch, her face looking in the general direction of the camera. Was I fast enough? I'd certainly never moved as quick to close a screen since a teenager and looking at something I shouldn't on the family computer. Standing up it came back to me in a flash. This wasn't the first time I'd been aroused by my mother, was it!?
*
Turning onto the long gravel drive of Mom's property, I looked down at the time and was surprised at my accuracy. 10:30 a.m on the dot. The exact time I'd predicted and it gave me somewhat a sense of satisfaction. Pulling up in front of her house, nothing dramatic had been done to the premises in the two months or so since I'd last visited and I immediately felt the sting of guilt for having not done so more often. Breathing in the smog free air of the country, the scent of the trees and the heat of the morning sun on my face, I could understand my mother's desire for her change of residence, the city quickly becoming a mere memory in my mind.
The front door unlocked, I entered the hallway and the relative cool of the interior of the house calling out my arrival to silence, the ticking of a clock the only response. My hand brushed across the back of the couch as I passed through the living room on into the kitchen, my dick twitching in acknowledgement of the role it had played, Mom laying upon its cushions only a day before. The door to the laundry opened as I skirted the dining table and she entered the room, her appearance and the accompanying look on her face, evidence my arrival wasn't expected.
