Behind Closed Blinds Ch 04

1

Mum's last day...

If there was one way mum loved best to recover from a vigorous day of shagging, it was with a hot bath the next morning. Little did she know that since it was the last day before she went back home, I'd prepared a treat to really wow her with; something to leave her extra sad to have to go.

In a way I suppose that was me projecting my own feelings onto her, but only because I wasn't physically able to go with her – not at that time – otherwise I would have. No, she would have to go and we would have to rein in our deepening feelings for each other. It would be akin to two hearts being glued together and having to be torn apart. It was going to hurt.

Now Sara splashed and tunefully hummed to herself in the tub, late that morning, and for a while I stood on the landing, smiling to myself and straining in my shorts, because I knew what my plans would lead to, eventually. I'm a bad little boy at heart, it's true, but I liked to leave a good impression in the end.

I opened the door, wafting thick day-lit steam as I went, and when I saw my mother filling the bath with her voluptuous form – particularly those luscious big boobs all wet and glistening the way they were – I beamed a smile and commented how happy she sounded.

Contently she smiled back as if to say that I should have known very well why she was happy enough to be singing. 'Feeling awake and refreshed?' I asked.

'Mmmm,' she purred, 'I'm fine, darling, but you haven't half left me stiff and sore after these past few days.' Still her eyes said thank you – a big thank you!

'Well it just so happens I have something for that,' I pitched in as I knelt beside the tub and began to trace a finger from her perspiring shoulder, along the curve of the breast closest to hand, and then around the nipple. 'Something to work the kinks out...'

'Hmmm, sounds interesting,' Sara responded dreamily.

'Finish your bath, towel off, and come into the bedroom when you're ready, and I will treat you to something you will definitely enjoy,' I told her, and then kissed her on the forehead. I left her to it, hearing the loud sigh fill the bathroom behind me as I closed the door. It was almost a moan. Again I grinned to myself and went to prepare her surprise.

2

The men who sit at computers for a living get a bad reputation, I believe. Or maybe the problem is that we lack reputation where it counts. Because I "push pencils", or push buttons to be more acute, you wouldn't expect me to have any real practical skills or talents.

I don't follow trends and I don't play a guitar. I don't have aspirations other than to please the women (or woman) in my life. I'm boring to the outside world even though I do like to give as good as I get when drama rears its ugly head.

One thing I do have is a very capable pair of hands when it comes to pleasing the opposite sex, and it occurred to me that whereas my mother was no stranger to them, and sexually, she had never experienced the full-body massages that were once reserved solely for the woman who eventually betrayed me.

Shortly after Sara showered off the bath water and then dried herself off, she came sauntering into the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel on her head. I stood there still grinning, trying to be as proper as could be expected of me, dressed down in a vest and a pair of lounge shorts.

On the bed lay a few fresh white bath towels, duvet neatly folded away. And on the bedside table lay the last bottle of massage oil that I had bought but didn't get to use some months back. I told her to lie down on the bed, face down, and to relax. The central heating was on just enough to keep her warm, but strategically also to stop me from sweating all over her once my muscles were getting a good workout on her.

Mum pouted, smiled only with her eyes, approving of my plan. She climbed onto the bed, making sure I got a good eyeful of the goods – her swaying tits, her curvaceous bottom, and other things. No, I reminded myself, this is not going to turn into another incest porno. For once I may have been right. It wasn't long before mum was off in her own little world.

I warmed some oil in the palm of my hand and began to go to work, starting at her legs and thoroughly greasing her up to the top of her thighs to the soundtrack of her pleasured mumblings.

Though Sara is a voluptuous woman, soft and desirable and plentiful in her own beautiful way, she carries it all on the frame of a strong and independent woman. I consistently groped and pinched and kneaded for a long time at her calf muscles, and then her thighs, easing the tension out of her hamstrings and keeping her well-oiled.

And though it wasn't the most erotic thing, nor was it intended to be overwhelmingly erotic, I hoped that she was enjoying the sense of intimacy that I was, and especially as I moved up to begin at her bottom, which would require a LOT of attention from yours truly.

And then my mother starts to murmur, in a way that is irremovable of the many times in history that Homer Simpson found himself thinking about donuts. Well, there was one thing that separated her and Homer, at least. Even through the fruity aromatic scent of the oil I was certain that I could sense her arousal...

You try getting your mother's juices going for a few good years and then you tell me it's a forgettable scent. Hers always made me dizzy with desire, and that was what I was starting to feel by the time I'd worked my way up her spine to her shoulders and groped her into a coma.

When I asked her to turn around and to lie on her back, she uttered a naughty giggle under her breath and she asked me if I was sure I wanted that. 'Massage parlour rules,' I told her. 'I can't extort you for a job well done if you force me to finish with only half a job done.'

When she turned onto her side to adjust her position, I could instantly see why she was apprehensive of having to move. Her pussy had saturated the towel beneath her, leaving a big wet spot behind. Her face was a picture of sleepy bliss. Maybe, I thought, she didn't even realise just how turned on she was at this point.

'Enjoying it so far, mum?' I probed.

'Hmmm,' I never realised just what wonderful therapeutic hands you have,' she said almost deliriously, before obediently lying on her back and shaking the weighty feeling out of her hands. 'I may drift off...'

'You go right ahead if you want to,' I encouraged. 'I'll wake you later if you do. You deserve a good rest.'

'Hmmm,' she agreed, already slipping away. So next I started with her arms, specifically from the fingers and hands upward. As I did, now I could gauge her reaction by her face. And as I did that, I found myself drifting for a while. Sara clearly delighted in the feel of having her hands played with, which she signified with a whimsical smile – eyes closed.

I oiled my way up the wrists, to her elbows and to her shoulders, taking extra special care to be gentle, more emphasis placed on the power of touch rather than force. For some reason I just could not prevent myself from brushing up against her heavy breasts – her nipples now thick and erect – and becoming mesmerised by their responsive movements.

I stifled a mischievous chuckle. Immediately so did she. It was time to move on. 'I'm going to work on your feet now. If they get too ticklish, feel free to tell me to stop,' I said. For the next twenty minutes I had a perfect view of her exposed pussy, which gleamed wetly with her not so modest arousal.

Rather than do the gentlemanly thing of climbing between her legs and fixing her plumbing with my wagging tongue, I decided – fuck it, but not that way – I was going to leave her horny like an evil bastard instead. That was the plan. I was going to stick to it.

But my willpower waned as I once again made my way up her legs and gradually found myself wrestling with her gorgeously thick thighs. One hand working the outside of each leg, and the other working the inside, her legs were now spread to allow me ease of access. And as I worked my way to the very top of her thighs, the knuckles of one hand could not avoid grazing against her wetness and stirring her up, leaving her to wrestle with her own urges.

For those long minutes her deep and even breathing had turned to near-panting and whimpering. Rather strategically I moved up to her shoulders and neck. 'You rrrr a wicked tease,' she slurred. Her eyes seemed closed at first glance, but upon longer inspection, I could make out that she was ever so slightly peeking out through the thinnest slits in her eyelids.

'I don't know what you mean, mum,' I said innocently, thumbing gently along the sides of her neck and up to her ears behind the jaw. Those were amongst her special places, along what's called the great auricular nerve. Know how to use your fingers right and it works for everyone. Work that part well enough and you have yourself one sleepy customer.

'Oh what the hell,' I mumbled to myself when her light snoring became apparent. Mum's breaths were deep and even, her breasts heaving up into the air and back down again, like the waves on the ocean.

I took the bottle of oil and liberally poured it over her naked torso, from just above her belly button to the valley between those magnificent peaks. I no longer cared about making a mess. I stealthily began to distribute the oil across her torso, but mostly over and around her breasts, and shivered at the feel of those thickened nipples as they tickled the slippery palms of my hands.

Either time slowed down or I was there for a very long time, cupping those soft, heavy mounds, squeezing them, squashing them together, and thoroughly pinching and pulling at those nipples. I was tempted to take them into my mouth, to suck on them and nibble them, and all manner of other things, but just in awe at the sight of my mother's oily, slippery body, as she snoozed away – just the sight of her ample delights – all curves and contours – glistening in the afternoon light, I became mesmerised again and continued to play away with those beautiful tits.

I was disturbed some time later by a polite cough, and Sara looking at me, then down her naked body and back to me. I didn't stop. 'Those aren't muscles, dear,' she informed me.

'Shhh, mum,' I silenced her. 'I'm making milkshakes!'

3

Surprisingly, I cannot say whether my plan worked or whether it spectacularly backfired. That night after a rather ordinary family day of dinner in town and a movie that evening – Trains, Planes & Automobiles was a strange choice of film to watch that time of year, but it's still one of our favourites – mum announced that she would be sleeping in the spare room to make sure she was up early enough to prepare for the trip back home.

Yes, I wanted to tease her a little before she left so that we would have something to look forward to when we met again. Well I'd clearly confused myself as now I was kicking myself. By bedtime I was thinking how I wanted to shag her brains out while I still had the chance, but she was too happy to have herself an early night... alone.

Sleep took me at around 1am, I think, and whereas I did enjoy the extra sprawl space here and there, I woke up at half six with one seriously hard and throbbing case of morning glory. There I lay flat on my back, not thinking too hard about what to do with the thing – the window open, the birds outside singing, and the sunlight of a dazzling day glowing brilliantly against the slightly parted blinds.

I always kept a bottle of lubricant handy in the bedside drawer. It wasn't long before I was treating myself to an absurdly pleasurable slippery masturbation session, one hand pressing down on my mons as I thrust up my pelvis for maximum length, and the other making full use of every inch I had.

I'm proud of the fellow, I am, but my self-love sessions aren't to the point of having a cock fixation. I'm just happy that I can use very well what I have to work with, and that I have plenty of it.

I heard her purr her approval from the open bedroom door some time later. It was just as well that I was planning to make playtime last. Once upon a time I'd have lurched in horror and scrambled to hide innocently beneath the covers, as if I had nothing to hide. Now I simply looked over to her, mildly surprised to see her awake so early – and wearing that same sexy nightie that she had the first night – and I treated her to a little show.

I cracked open the bottle and drizzled more lube over myself, like ketchup and mustard to a hotdog, and there was a lot of it by the time I was ready to continue. And as I started over, gripping my sticky, slippery shaft in my fist and slickly sliding up and down over it, she joined me in my sleepy gasps of delight.

'You're up early,' I figured I'd mention after all, the straining head of my cock squishing loudly between my thumb and forefinger.

'So are you,' was the double-entendre. Sara's eyes were fixed on my jacking motions. 'Go slower or you won't last.'

I took her advice, also making a point of giving her the best view I could. 'I don't have a problem lasting, ' I informed her, as if she wouldn't know anything about that.

'No but it's hotter,' she admitted.

'Are you just going to stand there?'

'Mmmhmm,' she nodded, grinning. 'What would you have me do?'

'You know what I'd do,' I told her straight, 'but you could join me if you wanted to...'

Sara chuckled softly, still refusing to play along. She was playing her own game now, the deceitful minx.

'Or...'

'Or?'

'We could squish our bits together until they squirt,' I suggested filthily.

'You dirty bastard,' she laughed. 'Where is my son?'

'Not in your pussy that's for sure,' I groaned, arching my back and lifting my hips off the bed as I increased pressure and tempo once again. She laughed to herself and walked away, and frankly I was beyond belief. The lock of the bathroom door clicked then and soon she was singing in the shower.

4

I saw my mother off to the train station after lunch, but not before she surprised me with a long and terribly teasing blowjob, then reminding me of all I'd have to look forward to if I decided to move back home. She knew that the deal was as good as done and that I was done with my current job. She knew that I was miserable here on my own, and especially with the prospect of having to see "The Bitch" around town with her replacement cuck.

I was no cuck, let me make that perfectly clear. If I was, she would still be here and my life would have jack shit going for it – no, the manipulative cunt had moved on because I was not the complete pushover she grew to mistake me for.

Just because I loved her enough to suffer as so many strong women suffered for the men they loved, I had tried to walk the straight and narrow and to maintain what we had. I was a fool, not a cuck. I didn't need to be reminded either.

As blind luck would have it, the reminded came to my front door three weeks later, and in fact while I was in the midst of packing up, getting ready to leave.

Everything was finalised with work. After trying everything to get me to stay, my manager had replaced me quickly and let me get on with things at home, so I ordered a skip and filled it with all the shit I didn't need. I was going to start afresh, taking only my clothes, my paperwork, and my entertainment.

I was none too pleased to see Carol and in spite of what she was doing here, she didn't seem too happy to see me either. She had to swallow a lot of pride to ask me how I was doing, to pretend to be interested, and to say that she was wrong to do what she did.

That didn't make any of it alright, or acceptable, or forgivable – at least not to the point that I would invite her in, which was what she wanted.

I remember very clearly that she somehow looked darker all over, and in an unhealthy way. She had the slight appearance of black smudges around her eyes and seemed pale by contrast. She had bags under her eyes too, and thinner cheeks. She'd clearly lost weight.

I should have felt sorry for her, but thinking about it since she had left me, I could only feel that she had brought it on herself and that she would not change for anyone. The only thing that had changed was her loyalty, if she had ever truly been loyal to me.

'Listen, it was a mistake and I've been kicking myself ever since. I think you owe me that-

'Whoaaaa!!' I halted loudly. 'I don't owe you anything, Carol. I'm moving away. I'm done with this city and I'm done with this house and I'm done with you,' I went on. 'Now I'm glad you've seen the error of your ways, but those are your ways and I'm not accountable or responsible for them.'

Her upper lip curled up in utter detest for me. I could see that what little patience she'd had, or what little chance she knew she had, was already up.

'Oh yeah that's right, run away,' she spat bitterly. 'Do you know why I left you?'

'Because you were fucking a walking talking dick wart and it was all you ever dreamed of?' I challenged. Her head bobbed madly on her shoulders at that. Offence muted her for a glorious few seconds, while she burned red with anger.

'I gave you all the chances you needed and you just kept taking me for granted,' she screamed. The professional, calm and calculated Carol was now gone. Here stood the real thing before me. I was now only sad that I'd fallen for it all along. The nonsensical bile streaming from her mouth meant nothing to me. 'I practically mothered you. I'm surprised you lasted this long on your own. But no, you just turn your back on me like you always did?'

'Like when?' I asked out of sheer disbelief. 'Tell me when I ever turned my back on you?' She had no answer. I searched deeper, hacked my way beyond the surface to see whether this was really just some twisted perceived reality of hers, or if she was as full of shit as I thought she was. 'I'll fucking tell you what I did. I turned a blind eye to your bitterness, your nitpicking, your petty fucking arguments, and I even told myself a thousand times that you weren't the kind of horrid bitch to be fucking around behind my back; telling myself over and over that I was just pathetic and paranoid!'

'Well,' she murmured, close to tears. She crossed her arms and snarled at me. 'Well...'

There was nothing left to say, except; 'There's your shit in the skip. If you need money you can drag it to the Cash Generator up the high street. Just remember that I owe you nothing and that I never want to see you again!'

'Please,' she whimpered. I might have fallen for it only weeks ago, had her tear ducts not already dried up. 'Give me a chance. Please. I'll make up for everything. You'll see.'

'Carol,' I said, restless with impatience, but then I had to laugh it off – even if defensively – before I concluded; 'There aren't enough antibiotics or antidepressants in the world to make taking you back remotely humanly possible.'

Okay, so I'm not a bad boy. I'm an evil shit. But then you reap what you sow!

5

Home again...

I couldn't have been happier as I was the day I strolled up the garden path to my mother's house for the first time in what felt like forever. The old neighbourhood hadn't changed at all, so it appeared on the surface.

The suburbs back home were gloriously peaceful. The sun was shining. I had so much to look forward to, and so much I'd already left behind. I guess you could say that I was in a sunshine state of mind.

I had my old keys in my pocket, ready to open that door again and to waltz into my mother's life again, but instead I decided to ring the doorbell. I wanted to see the look on her face as she opened the door to see me standing there, grinning with that bulky travel case stood beside me.

Almost hysterically she greeted me with a shower of manic kisses, her arms squeezing the life out of me. 'I'm back,' I groaned with what little lung room her bear hug afforded me.