Book 5: Mouse's Rival
Chapter 4
<8 Crime
Melanie was able to restrain herself all the way until the next Sunday, bothered by the memory of what she'd been envisioning with her too masculine son Doug. It was even after noon that day before she had her first drink. She was dressed, very properly, in a skirt and a loose fitting blouse with a high collar, buttoned all the way up to her neck, when she had her first glass of scotch, and her second. Dan was away on business for another week. Rick was out with his friends.
Doug was home with her again.
She looked at him, over her third glass, sprawled on the couch, his limbs irreverently tossed helter skelter about the couch back and coffee table both. He was so large he just couldn't fit properly on a normal, human sofa. He had a pile of thick text books and worn notebooks strewn about, on the couch and coffee table top, the common tools of a student studying for finals.
He'd said the class was a joke, that he was wasting his time by studying, but he had nothing better to do.
Melanie studied his body. When she closed her eyes, she could see him again on the deck, on the recliner. His clothes were gone and she could admire the fine tone and timber of his body.
She wondered if he ever noticed hers. In high school, the young boys never noticed her breasts, but in college they did. She'd become quite adept at helping them to notice her tits, when she wanted.
She couldn't actually do anything with her own son, but she wondered if she could excite him.
Melanie's fingers were distractedly, almost imperceptibly tickling the tops of her breasts, through the fabric of her blouse. She hadn't even realized it. If she'd been wearing a necklace she would have been fingering that, instead.
Doug wasn't looking as she undid the top most buttons of her blouse, just one button further than she should have gone. The flesh colored lace at the edge of her bra was just barely visible, from the right angles. The flesh of her breasts above it was plainly visible. She undid one more button, but made sure that the folds of the blouse stayed together, hiding the indiscretion. She pulled her bra down slightly, too, just exposing the top edges of her wide, round aureolas.
She wasn't going to be bad. It was just harmless fun. She'd just tease the dear boy. Nothing was going to happen. She wasn't that foolish. She knew that. She hadn't done anything the last time, had she? She'd over reacted to the whole thing. She was thinking more clearly now, she thought, as she took another sip of her drink and then set it down on a sofa table.
Melanie calmly strode over to the space between the couch and the coffee table. She carefully and primly slid a pile of books aside, to make a place to sit on the edge of the coffee table itself. She did so very properly, with her knees held tightly together and angled to one side.
Doug didn't even glance at her. He was absorbed in his studying, and probably silently annoyed that she was intruding.
"I haven't been to college in so long, I've forgotten what studying is like."
She leaned forward, putting her head above his, trying to peer at the pages of the book he held in front of his face. The posture put the opening in her blouse just a foot from his eyes, very unabashedly exposing the tops of her breasts. The boy would have to bury his face in the back of the couch to avoid looking. The top of his hair just barely tickled her ear and the side of her neck. She couldn't see his eyes, so he was free to look as much as he wished.
She stayed there a while, reading several lines from the page out loud, to set him at ease with his sudden predicament, or opportunity. She let him feel he had some time. She continued for a while, letting his eyes, hopefully, linger, letting him get comfortable.
She pulled slowly back as she finished reciting the last sentence, giving him time to recover, to hide is voyeurism. Sitting ramrod straight now, thrusting her chest out, accentuating her size as much as she could, she smiled warmly at him, just a mother sharing a proud moment with her cherished son.
She could see by the flush and confusion on the boy's face that he had been looking. It seemed to her that he was having a hard time keeping his eyes from drifting back down. His mouth was ever so slightly open, it's slackness hinting that his thoughts, and probably his heart, were racing. He kept his own big, excited brown eyes locked on hers, as if he were afraid that they would fall to her chest, and he'd be caught staring.
Maybe it was her imagination. So why stop here?
She leaned in again, in the exact same way, using one finger to turn the pages for him, as if she were hunting for a particular passage. She picked a section at random, and began reading again. She read slowly and evenly, in a soft, calming, unhurried tone of voice. Let him get comfortable again. Let him enjoy the view.
This time she stopped abruptly, in mid sentence, very suddenly pulling back and looking down, just quickly enough, leaving her breasts there but trying to catch him in the act, to catch him staring, and to enjoy any expression of lust she could catch on his face.
Melanie immediately looked back at the pages of the book, smoothly she hoped, to let him think she hadn't noticed, yet frantic to hide her grin, hiding the pleasure of perfect success she felt upon seeing that she had him, that he was loving every moment of this. She was also, tacitly, letting his gaze return to her flesh.
She turned the page again. Before doing so, she put her hand on his, to help hold the book. He seemed, almost imperceptibly, to flinch at her touch, at first. His hands were startlingly warm. She could almost feel the blood coursing through is veins, faster and more urgently than usual.
She applied a gentle, unassuming pressure to his hand, enjoying the heat of the smooth contact, while easing the book lower, presumably for a better view of the page. Instead, she let her own glance stay straight ahead, as the book descended, and his knees and then crotch came into view.
The sight of the bulge in his shorts made her heart stop. His cock was straining to pop loose from the confines of his clothes. One sight of his dear mother's breasts, her own nipples flushed with raw, sexual excitement, had driven the boy to the brink. Her own eyes fogged over as she vividly remembered the image of that stiff, naked, precious cock, tensing and jerking, then delivering a river of cum up and out and over his delicious, gleaming torso.
Her mind swam with the liquor. Her last drink was starting to kick in, now. She had to be careful.
Without thinking, as if someone else were in her body, she stood now. As she stood, she held his hand tightly, drawing him up from the couch, to stand in front of her.
"I'm so proud of you, Baby," she told him, while falling into his young, dark, excited eyes.
She let her hands slip under his arms, around his waist. She rested her head on his shoulder as she pulled him close, into a motherly embrace.
"I love you. I love everything you've ever done," she breathed straight into his ear.
Her own breasts tingled with pleasure as they pressed flat against his firm chest. With her own hands in the small of his back, she hugged him tightly, pulling him into her, delightfully pulling his hips to hers. The feel of his bulge pressing against her loins made her instantly wet, or more wet than she already was. She felt as if her pussy was on fire.
She thought she'd never wanted a cock in her so badly in her whole life.
Doug's hands rested timidly on her shoulder blades, holding her, but applying no pressure, as if he were afraid of the contact. Eventually, his fingers moved. The pressure became more firm, while his finger tips traced very small, almost imperceptible but pleasing paths over her back.
Melanie's own hands began to massage his lower back, rubbing more insistently, working their way slightly lower. She hesitated, in her mind, even as her hands continued to move.
Did she have the nerve? Could she let her hands fall farther down, to the top of his tense, muscular ass. Could she get away with it? Could she pull him more firmly, pull his bulge more firmly against her own rebelling, pleading body?
"Mom..." he said, his voice a husky whisper.
The sound of the word thrilled her. It sent shivers down her spine. His voice was so sexy, so masculine and mature, but at the same time submissive and hesitant.
At the same time, the word, that one word, shocked her into consciousness. Her mind raced with other words and thoughts. Incest. Her son. Her husband. Her mistakes. Her failures.
She tried to step back, not too quickly, trying not to seem panicked, but she tried to break the contact. The back of one calf struck the edge of the coffee table with a painful stab. She would have fallen, if his strong arms weren't there to catch her, to hold her up.
As it was, she wound up leaning away from him, her breasts no longer plastered against his chest, but instead exposed by a blouse that she now realized she'd opened much too far for a discrete game of hide and peek. Meanwhile, in her pose, her hips were now thrust that much more firmly against his. The huge, hard bulge at his crotch was now driven hard against hers, as if trying to tear through his pants and her skirt, both, to immediately join them in an incestuous union.
Melanie could feel the blush rising in her face. She looked away to hide it, frightened, moving her hands to his shoulders, pulling herself upright and then quickly pushing him away with that same gentle touch she had used to move the book out of her line of sight.
"Ow," she said, more as an excuse to break the mood than as an expression of her pain.
