Mom's Birthday Panties

I took the biggest risk of my life, a few months after my eighteenth birthday. I'm older now, and yet, even though that first big risk made me a bold person, who once went up to a beautiful woman on the street and asked her out ... I've never taken as big a risk as I did that day.

It was my mother's birthday. She was turning thirty-eight. It had always been just the two of us, and in a way it was us against the world. We were very close--even too close, by most standards. Just a few nights before her birthday she had sent me to the video store, and when I came back and popped the movie in, she had snuggled up against me, so that we were almost spooning on the couch. She didn't seem to think there was anything inappropriate about that, and I was wildly excited. That night I found, in the hamper, what I was pretty certain she had been wearing on the couch, and wrapped the panties around my throbbing cock, pumping it to thoughts of her sucking me, and exploded in an incredible orgasm, soaking the back of her panties.

I knew one thing, and guessed another. I knew that I was in love with my own mother. Not in the way a son should be, but in the way a man is attracted to a sexy older woman--an older woman who would know exactly how to please him. She was so beautiful to me. She had shoulder-length red hair, extremely large breasts, a trim waist, and a bottom that was beautifully large and firm. I knew what was under her clothes. I had worn her panties, her slips, her bras, and her stockings and garters. I had come into her panties so many times I couldn't count, and every time it felt like the semen was shooting out of me so hard that I would hurt myself. I knew that my stomach turned to jelly whenever I saw her panty line, and that I would have to rush to the bathroom to masturbate if she, unthinkingly, walked past me in only her bra and panties. That was the thing I knew. The thing I guessed was that my mother felt the same way about me. Maybe, when she would snuggle with me, or just lie next to me and hold me, maybe she was in denial. I didn't really understand denial back then, but I do now, and I think that's the best way to put it. I was a good-looking, trim young man, with a nice face, and she was a gorgeous woman in her thirties who hadn't dated since I was born. In fact, she was divorced before I was born, so unless she was sneaking quickies at work, which was highly unlikely, she hadn't had sex since she had conceived me. This must have been her way of touching a man. Maybe she wanted to touch me more. I didn't know. Maybe she did but she didn't know it. All I knew was that I desperately wanted her, more than anything else, and I was willing to take a risk that was so big, that I was terrified all that morning, the butterflies in my stomach feeling more like giant mosquitoes.

I was waiting for her to wake up. She had to work, so she would be up by seven, but I had been unable to sleep all night, and, laying and watching my bedroom ceiling, and the glow-in-the-dark stars that she and I had put up so many years ago, I lay and dreamed about all the possible outcomes of taking my risk, of giving her her birthday present. Some of it was just sheer fantasy, but sometimes reality would strike me, and I would realize that this was probably going to be a very embarrassing scene. She might even ask me to move out. She might never talk to me again. I knew this might happen.

I was in the kitchen, the small box with the silk ribbon on the table in front of me, and I waited. She would ask what it was, and I would tell her. That's all I had to do. The giant mosquitoes in my stomach be damned. All I had to do was do two things. I had to keep the box on the table, and I had to tell her it was for her. And I had to wait for her to come into the kitchen. She was doing something in the back. I heard the shower turn on. This wasn't good. She might not even come into the kitchen before work. She might grab a bite at the drive-thru, and the only thing I would hear from her would be a "Bye!" as she walked out the door.

Time must have dilated for me in my anxiety, because she suddenly walked into the kitchen. She was stunning. Her business suit was all black, and every time she moved, I heard her slip sliding against her stockings, her panties, and her bra. Silk against silk. How wonderful it must have been to be a sexy woman, dressing herself in silk underwear, feeling it rub against her nipples, and her pussy, all day long.

She smiled at me, leaned over, and kissed me on the lips. (This was another thing she did all the time, and never seemed to notice she was doing.) The first thing she said was, "Is that for me?"

I was supposed to answer. I had run this scene over and over in my head all night long, and, to a lesser degree, since I had thought of it a week before. When it came down to it, though, I couldn't speak. I had to, or she would go about getting breakfast, and the moment would pass. I choked out, very hesitatingly, "Yes."

She eyed me curiously. "Honey, are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I couldn't answer, even just to say, "I'm fine." I kept my eyes averted from her, and it was thus that I heard her pick up the package and undo the ribbon. I heard her take the top off the package.

Then there was absolute silence. It seemed to last an eternity. This was one of the responses I had expected, yet she still hadn't really responded.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. She laid the box back down in front of me, with a very gentle touch. She said to me, in a soft voice, "What is this?"

I couldn't answer her, because, although I loved it when I heard her say the word "panties", I personally couldn't bring myself to utter such a sexy word.

She then said, just as softly, "Why did you give me these?"

I looked down at the box. She had picked up a corner of the white satin panties on top, so that she could see that there was a red satin pair underneath.

I don't know how I did it, but I told her what I had practiced all the night before. I said, as best I could, "One is for you, and one is for me." I was shaking.

She stood stock still. I couldn't look at her, so I couldn't tell how she was taking it, but there was no movement, and no sound.

She broke the silence by saying, "What are you doing?"

I was horrified. It was the worst I had expected. I couldn't speak. She said, "Answer me. What do you think you're doing?"

She must have figured out that I wasn't going to say anything, because she sat down on the chair beside me, and laid a hand on my right thigh--about six inches from my cock. I wished she would move it up, but she didn't. She said, "I don't know exactly what you are up to, but I think ... I think you're trying to seduce me. Am I right?"

I nodded my head.

"You're very quiet for a Don Juan," she said, and seemed to be smiling. She put one arm around my shoulders, and pulled me to her, kissing me on the lips. "It's all right," she said. "I know how sons feel about their mothers sometimes."

I started to cry. I guess all the anxiety of the night had been more than I'd thought. The tears just poured out of me, on to the shoulder of her business suit. She rocked me back and forth, and kissed me on the cheek. "I know you've been masturbating in my panties," she said. "You must think I'm an idiot if you think you can get away with that."

I managed to choke out, "But it was always the dirty laundry."

She pulled me closer and laughed lightly, in a kind way. "Honey, it's not hard to miss a large semen stain." She paused. "Very large, in fact."

She held me for a long time. Something odd started to nag at me in the back of my mind. At first I couldn't tell what it was, but then it struck me. I said to her, in a tear-choked voice, "You're going to be late for work."

"I'll call in sick today."

She said it so plainly. It didn't necessarily mean anything, but my heart began to race. She stood up, and went over to the kitchen phone. I heard the numbers beeping as she dialed, and then a pause. She said into the phone, "Hi, Rachel? Yep. This is her. Look, I can't come in today. No, I know. Yes, I sound just fine, but to tell you the truth, I've got a fever, and my stomach is doing really bad. Yeah. I can't keep anything down. Yep. Okay, see you tomorrow. Oh, well, it's probably a twenty-four hour bug. I'm sure I'll be fine tomorrow. Okay. Yep. Okay. Bye."

I heard her hang the phone up, and then she picked up the box and walked back to her bedroom. I sat at the kitchen table, absolutely miserable. Some hopeful part of me, a part I dared not even think about too much, hoped that she would walk back in with nothing but the white satin panties on, and she would perhaps pull me to my knees and make me tongue her pussy, or maybe strip my clothes off and put the other pair on me, and then take me in her mouth, or roll a condom down my cock and slide me inside her. Inside my mom. I was getting hard at the thought, but reality kept pressing in. I knew why she had called in sick. We were going to have one of our talks. This happened on occasion. We would go out to a restaurant, order breakfast, and she would have a long, quiet discussion with me about how boys feel about their mothers, how it's really called the Oedipus Complex, how it's completely natural, how she could never do that for me, because she's my mother, etc. etc.

She walked back into the kitchen, still wearing the same black business suit, and put the box back on the table. The lid was back on it. I assumed she was returning her gift. I even expected her to ask me if I still had the receipt (as, actually, they had been very expensive.) I sighed. She stood next to me, not saying anything, with me expecting the worst. Instead, she reached over, and with a painted finger popped the lid off and let it rest against the box. I was looking at her finger, in the way that someone in despair will fixate on some neutral object, so my eyes were right there when the box was opened. The white satin panties were still on top. I assumed the red ones were still underneath. I just looked at the box, not daring to look at her. I wasn't even really looking at the box, as a matter of fact, just her finger. She reached her finger in to the box, and lifted up the white satin panties. There was nothing underneath them.

She said, "One for me and one for you, right?"

I sat in shock. She added, "I liked the red ones better, and I think the white ones would look fetching on you."

I looked up at her for the first time, and our eyes met. We held that gaze for far too long, much, much longer than a mother and son hold a gaze. Her brilliant blue eyes were very calm. I suddenly felt the anxiety in my stomach again, but this time it was butterflies--beautiful, brilliant blue butterflies.

She asked me, in a matter-of-fact tone, "Do you want to go into your bedroom and put your panties on, or do you want me to do it for you?"

I was stunned. My mother ... how could I have just heard what I had heard? I stammered out, "You."

"Me?" she asked brightly, then took me by the hand, and led me all the way to the back of the house, to her bedroom. I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll do everything."

She lightly guided me to her bed, and laid me down on top of the covers. She then pulled the covers back, underneath my body, and tucked my legs in. Slowly, with the soft, gentle hands of a loving mother, she undid my shirt, pulling it off me. She pulled off my undershirt, and then my upper body was naked to her. She had seen it before, this was no big deal. Before I could react, though, her hands were on my cock, or rather undoing my jeans, and suddenly I remembered what I had forgotten all morning. How incredibly embarrassing! As she pulled off my jeans she laughed a little bit, playfully pulling at the pair of her panties that I was wearing, and letting the elastic snap back. "I hadn't even missed those," she said. "I guess you are pretty good at stealing your mother's panties."

She pulled the covers back, took off my shoes and socks, and then pulled my jeans off. My entire body, except for my feet, which were still under the covers, was now completely exposed to her. I was wearing a dark green pair of silk hipsters, my favorite of my mother's panties.

She stared at me for a long time, running her eyes up and down my body, always resting for a second on the dark green panties I was wearing. I had no idea what she was thinking, but I knew that I was extremely hard, and that my cock was trying its best to break free of mom's dark green silk panties.

She whispered suddenly, "You're so beautiful."

I couldn't breathe. I was able to get a few shallow breaths in, but that was it. She took off her outer suit jacket, and began to undo her black silk blouse. As she was undressing, she kept talking to me. Most of it was whispered. "I always wondered," she said. "Did I really feel that way? Did you really feel that way? Was it right? How could it be wrong if we're both consenting ..." She exposed her black slip. "Oh," she said. "I don't know." She reached back and unzipped her skirt, and dropped it at her feet. She laughed a bit. "You know," she said, "when I first discovered those come stains in my panties, I was glad. Oh, so many times I've masturbated, wearing the same panties, feeling the come stains on my ass, or rubbing against my pussy. Oh!" She lifted her slip up over her body, and I saw that, while her bra was also black, and straining to hold in her breasts, her panties were red. They were the panties I had so carefully picked out. She unclasped her bra, and I could see her enormous breasts spill out, naked, exposed to me, for the first time in my life. They were incredible.

She stared into my eyes, then walked up to the bed, and massaged my chest with her warm silk bra. She kissed me lightly on the lips, and whispered into my ears, "Those panties will have to come off. You have a new pair now." Suddenly she reached her hands down, and pulled my panties down around my thighs. My cock was completely exposed to her, and she quite obviously stood there staring at it for a minute or two. Then, as if coming out of a dream, she pulled the silk panties down my legs and off my feet. Pre-come was dripping off the head of my cock.

She pulled the white satin panties out of the box, and put my feet into them, sliding them up my legs until they were snug against my ass and cock. She laid a hand on my cock, on the outside of the panties, and then, almost absent-mindedly, ran a second hand underneath me. I think she was trying to decide whether or not to make it all last, or give in to herself, and take my cock in her mouth right then and there. She held her hands there for a long time, and if she had been stroking my cock, the matter would have been decided. I would have come in the white satin panties.

Instead she removed her hands and, now dressed only in the red satin panties, slipped in beside me on the bed, and pulled the covers over. She pressed her body firmly against mine. We were facing each other, and she had to pull me toward her because her breasts were pushing me away. She kept her face within inches of mine, breathing heavily, but not talking. I could smell her breath, and it smelled sweet.

She whispered to me, "What do you want to do?"

I couldn't answer that. I buried my face in her neck, and let her hold me. I could feel our panties touching, and knew that she could feel my hard cock on her pussy. I was still shaking.

She whispered, "Is this all you want?"

I shook my head, while it was still buried in her neck. I raised my head and kissed her, but this time I put my tongue in her mouth. She didn't stop me. She thrust back with her own tongue, and we kissed like newlyweds for what seemed like an hour. We were so close, and all I wanted to do at that moment was to kiss her.

We finally stopped, a little exhausted, and she held me again. Morning seemed to be passing. She said to me, in a normal tone of voice, "Do you want to be my husband or my son?"

I didn't understand, and I told her so.

"I mean," she said, "do you want to take control, or do you want me to take control?"

I answered by burying my face in her neck again. She said, "Okay, I'll take control. Tell me. What do you want? Do you want to fuck my tits?"

I was shocked, deeply shocked, and a guilty thrill ran through my body. I nodded my head.

She said, "Do you want to come in my mouth?"

I nodded my head.

She said, "Do you want to fuck me in my pussy?"

I nodded my head.

She said, "I've got a vibrator. Do you want me to fuck you in the ass with it?"

I nodded my head.

She laughed. "Well, looks like you have more desires than you can fulfill, sweetie. I guess we'll have to take our time." We kissed again, and I felt her hands moving down my body, until one hand was rubbing the outside of my panties, and then moving underneath the lace at the top, and stroking my throbbing, soaking cock. "You're so wet," she whispered. "Can you feel how wet I am, too?"

"Oh Mom," I whispered, "I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

I looked into her beautiful eyes. "No, Mom. I mean, I'm in love with you."

"I'm in love with you, too, honey," she whispered, and kissed me.

I whispered, "I want to come inside of you."

She kissed me and said, quietly, "We can't do that, honey. I don't have any condoms. Why don't you let me think of something?"

She pulled the covers back, and got up. I was transfixed by her beauty. Her body was so soft and sexy, and her red panties were a little askew on her ample bottom, starting to bunch up a little bit, so that a line ran down the middle. She went into her closet, to a place I'd never thought to look before, and pulled out a shoebox from the top shelf. She put the shoebox on top of her dresser, and took from it a white vibrator. With a shocking thrill, I saw that there were a few pubic hairs still clinging to it. She muttered, mostly to herself, "Have to clean this more often."

She came back to the bed and pulled the covers all the way down, until they were hanging off the back of the bed. She kissed my feet, and then moving up, kissed my legs from the bottom of my shins and calves, to the tops of my thighs. She began to lick around the edge of my panties--all around, so that sometimes her tongue was right next to my cock, and sometimes it was right next to my asshole. She said to me, "You know your mother loves you?"

"Yes," I whispered breathlessly.

"Your mother loves you more than you know," she said, and put a finger underneath the gusset of my panties, right over my asshole, and pulled them aside. I looked down, and she was sucking on the vibrator. I couldn't believe how sexy she looked, and when I thought about her swallowing her own pubic hairs, I felt incredibly dirty and turned-on at the same time. She took it out of her mouth and said, matter-of-factly, "We're going to need some lubrication."

She then wet one of her fingers with her mouth, and began to massage my asshole. I was shaking so hard I could barely control myself. It was a feeling of pleasure I had never known existed. Suddenly her finger was working its way past the tight muscles of my asshole, and slowly opening it up. "Just a little more," she whispered, and then I heard her turn on the vibrator.

I whispered, "Mom ..."

She said, "Don't worry, honey. This won't hurt. I think you'll like it quite a bit."

I felt the tip of the vibrator on my asshole. I had to hold my breath. I was petrified. She pushed it in very slowly, and while it was a little painful, the sensations that coursed through my body, like raw electricity, more than made up for it. She whispered, "Now let's see if you have a G-spot."

I didn't even know what that meant, but I soon figured it out. She pushed the vibrator most of the way in, and began to probe inside my asshole. Suddenly I felt a rush of extreme erotic pleasure, and arched my back hard. She laughed a little and said quietly, "I think we've found it."