Show Your Tits Show Your Tits Ch 02A

The feedback to Chapter 2 of this story included several excellent suggestions about different directions I could have taken. I have adopted some of them in this, an alternative version of Chapter 2. What follows does not continue the story from the end of Chapter 2; it picks up the story at the end of Chapter 1 as if Chapter 2 had not occurred. If you have read Chapter 2 some of this alternative will look familiar; portions of it are taken verbatim or with minimal changes from Chapter 2.

Chapter 2a will make more sense if you've read Chapter 1. If you haven't and prefer to skip it, in Chapter 1 Jacob's high school wrestling championship inspired Jennifer, his mother, to get back in shape. Over the succeeding months Jen became quite the gym rat and she and Jacob grow ever closer while her husband Bruce, already a man far more focused on his friends than family, receded into the background. Jacob's birthday wish, a trip to Mardi Gras with this new hot version of his mother, became hotter when he convinced her, in a place where the rules were temporarily suspended, to celebrate her new body with a series of skimpy outfits. Her libido, inflamed by the revelers' attention and incessant chant that she "SHOW HER TITS," led her into the arms, and bed, of her hunky son. Upon their return home she proclaimed the affair over and Jacob, the dutiful son, respected her request.

I would give credit to the individuals who made the suggestions incorporated in Chapter 2a but, alas, their comments were anonymous. Whomever you are, thanks.

Some of this story was inspired by actual events.

As always, all characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * *

The state wrestling tournament was scheduled three weeks after we returned from New Orleans. The finals were in St. Louis, on the other side of the state and a four hour drive from our home. The boys rode together on the team bus; Bruce and I drove our SUV, reserving a two bedroom suite at a nearby hotel. Bruce would return that night, the gang had planned an all day party celebrating the opening round of the NCAA basketball tournament, catching a ride home with Jerry Taylor, whose son Michael was also on the team. Michael and his mother Katana would, like Jacob and I, spend the night in the city, then ride home with us the following day after Jacob and I toured Washington University in St. Louis, one of several colleges to which he'd been admitted.

* * * *

Jacob, who'd won the state championship last year at 182 pounds, had moved up a weight class at Coach's request and was now wrestling at 199 pounds. In the final match of the day he faced Hank McVoy, the defending champion. Both boys were undefeated, but Hank, who was favored, had at least ten pounds on my son. The winner's team would be state champion.

It was late in the third period and Jacob, protecting his narrow lead, was parrying Hank's attacks. With less than a minute left Hank, clearly frustrated, lunged at Jacob. Jacob had anticipated the move; he blocked Hank, went low, and took Hank down hard; Hank literally bouncing on the mat. Jacob moved in for the cover and won by a pin. At least one fit older lady shot to her feet, applauding wildly. I was proud of my son, prouder still when Hank shoved Jacob who, instead of retaliating, turned to his teammates, who'd run on to the mat to congratulate him. I, along with the other parents, moved to the floor.

Jacob and the others headed our way. He took me in his arms and held me to him.

I kissed him. "I'm so proud of you."

I wanted him so bad.

"Thanks Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, so very much."

Coach waved the boys over, directed them to the trophy presentation.

* * * *

The winner of each weight class took the stage; Jacob, Hank McVoy glaring at him, was the last to be handed his medal. We caught each other's eye, I gave him the thumb's up, he returned the gesture. Coach passed the championship trophy down the line of boys and they headed for the locker room. I was daydreaming about Jacob in the shower, picturing the perfect body I'd known so intimately in New Orleans, when Katana said, "Jen, you still with us?"

"Yes, sorry Kat, I was thinking about the boys."

"Remember, we're meeting at Ruth's Chris to celebrate."

Jacob loved him a steak.

Katana and I, accompanied by the boys, walked our husbands to the care, kissed them good-bye, and headed for the restaurant for a thoroughly enjoyable evening. The food was superb, it always is, and everyone was in high spirits. I sat beside Katana, who was funny and good natured, the kind of independent woman I'd like to know better and who'd never fit in with my husband's crowd.

* * * *

At the hotel I kissed Jacob good night, went to my room, pulled the curtains shut, took a long hot relaxing shower. I wanted to be clean; I had something dirty in mind. I toweled myself dry and put on a see-through nightie I'd bought the day before in anticipation of this moment. Standing in front of a mirror, I dried my hair, pulled it into a pony tail, and admired my body. It was harder and tighter than ever; I'd been working off my sexual frustration with long hours in the gym. I imagined myself in this nightie, naughtier than even the micro-dresses I'd worn in the Crescent City, standing on a balcony in the French Quarter besides Jacob, the crowd cheering, then disappearing into the room to make love to my son.

I headed for bed, pulled back the sheet, laid down.

I wish I'd brought candles.

I reached down, gently rubbed my thighs, waist and stomach, my breasts, listening to my body, returning to the spots that most loved my sweet soft hand. My nightie, loose fitting and tiny, offered no impediment.

I kept it up, not sure how long, five maybe ten minutes, maybe longer. Several times I ran my fingertip through my sex, it was swollen and dripping wet. I took my time, wallowing in the sensations. I imagined Jacob opening the door, crawling into bed with me, kissing me, caressing me, touching me, entering me. I recalled the way he smelled after we made love, the way his firm warm body felt against mine. I pulled my hand from my sex, turned to my breasts, worked the hot sticky cream into a nipple, stroked my neck and chin.

I let the tip of my index finger glide from my clitoris to my perineum, then back up, centering my mind on the sensation. I focused on my labia, not as sensitive as my clittie, but still wonderful. Pressing, rubbing, touching, massaging the folds of skin, I felt the excitement born in my sex spread through my body. I'd find an especially sensitive spot, make a small circular motion, varying the pressure, sometimes a little bit, sometimes a lot; shivers ran up my spine.

I needed to do this more often.

Was Jacob in his room, playing with himself, thinking about New Orleans? I imagined his strong hand running the length of his thick hard cock. God, he had a beautiful cock.

I moved my finger to my clit, spread the skin surrounding it.

My clit was hard and erect, pulsating with blood. I covered it with the pad of my index finger, moved it in an oval. I pushed my middle finger inside my vagina, just the tip, rocked it up and down.

I thought about a vibrator. I didn't own one, some of my girlfriends, even some in happy relationships, swore by them. Maybe it was time.

I pushed the finger into my sex, dragged the tip along the roof of my vagina. I felt a quick intense spark; I'd found my g-spot; my toes curled; I let out a hard grunt. I ran a finger over it, over it, over it; a little bit harder, a little bit harder, a little bit harder.

My body moving in long slow undulations, I dragged my tongue over my dry lips; my legs drifted further apart; my breasts rose and fell with each breath.

Pleasure pulsed through me. I moaned, soft and low, no yelping allowed with Jacob so close. But he was close, the best fuck I'd ever known was a few feet away. I thought about New Orleans. I'd been so wicked. Standing on the balcony, wearing next to nothing, the crowd roaring, knowing the young man standing next to me was about to fuck me silly.

I dug my heels into the mattress, raised my ass, slid my pinkie into my asshole.

It had been so much fun being wicked.

The gentle undulations of my body forgotten, I was rocking my hips into my hand. My clittie, my cunt, my asshole merged into a single pit of pleasure. I bit my lip, trying to suppress my moans. Could Jacob hear his mother playing with herself. What if he was fisting himself right now, listening to my moans?

I thought about the way he fucked me, his relentless dick driving me from orgasm to orgasm. No one had ever fucked me like that.

My eyes shot open, my body shuddered, my world exploded. The orgasm that started in my cunt burned through my body. My pussy spasmed, tightened, expelled my finger. I was covered in sweat. My cunt and asshole continued to spasm in the aftershocks of the orgasm. I felt boneless.

* * * *

We met Stephanie Seymore, Assistant Director of Admissions, at 10:00. Wearing jeans and a red shirt, I felt underdressed. In her early forties, Stephanie's appearance was meticulous. She wore a conservative brown suit and small feminine black-rimmed glasses; her brown hair was in a bun and her nails neatly manicured and painted a soft red. But the disguise could not hide her beauty: 5 feet 10 inches tall, 140 pounds or so, hourglass figure, 38-26-37 (I guessed), and full round breasts. While she efficiently discussed the school, answered our questions, and told us Jill Lloyd would meet us at the statute in the front of the building to show us the campus, my mind kept wandering, imagining that this woman, outside the office, was quite the handful.

It wasn't just me. As we exited the building Jacob said, "Woooooo, was she smoldering."

* * * *

Jill, a senior, waved to get our attention. A petite girl with a more than ample chest - her halter top made it impossible not to notice - her short blonde hair was cut in a bob. Flashing a winning smile she stuck out her hand. She also gave my son a subtle double take. I confess to a flash of jealousy.

"Hey, I'm Jill. I'm here to show you the place."

Jacob grasped her hand. "Jacob, from Kansas City. This is Jennifer, she's a family friend, looking after me while I'm in town."

One of my eyebrows went up.

"Good to meet you Jennifer."

I'd play along. "Please, call me Jen."

We shook hands. Her arm was well-muscled, her grip firm. She turned and we followed. Her halter top exposed the long lean muscles of her back.

Jill was an excellent guide, her love of the university infectious. When she tried a gentle flirt with my son he paid closer attention to me and she started treating us as a couple, suspecting that family friend did not fully describe my role.

At the end of the tour Jacob slipped away to the men's room and Jill and I discussed our work-out and diet routines, Jacob joining in upon his return. In parting Jill said, "My sorority is having a Daisy Duke Party tonight. I'd love it if you'd come."

"Daisy Duke Party?" I said.

"Yeah, all the women wear Daisy Duke's."

"Don't you think I'm a little bit," what was the right word, "mature?"

She scanned my body. "No honey, you'll fit right in."

I was about to tell her that Jacob and I were leaving that night when he said, "Sounds like fun. Where and when?"

"Send me your number, I'll text you the particulars."

The two of them pulled out their phones, exchanged information.

* * * *

Jacob climbed behind the wheel of the car.

"Jacob, I can't go to a sorority party, those girls are half my age, and we're supposed to give Katana and Michael a ride home tonight."

Jacob, who'd pulled out his phone and had already started typing, said, "C'mon Mom, it'll be fun and a chance for me to make some new friends and Michael and Ms. Taylor would love an excuse to stay another day. Do you really want to drive back and hang around with Dad and his friends."

Before I could answer his phone pinged. "They're all in."

He started up the car.

"But...," I said.

"But what?"

He was right. It would be more fun to stay then return to the detritus of an all-day NCAA tourney party. And why deny my son the opportunity to meet a sorority house full of girls?

I called Bruce, let him know we'd be delayed a day. Barely listening, he said fine. We stopped at several second hand shops, settling on some cut off jeans that covered my ass - despite Jacob's urging no butt cheeks wold be hanging out - a one inch black belt, and a short denim jacket, they'd go well with my pink sports bra. They'd also show off my tummy. I'd been working hard on it and could now claim a bona-fide six pack. I finished with four inch stiletto heels, long hoop earrings, and several costume jewelry bracelets.

At the hotel I showered, dressed, and teased my hair, achieving a wild friz of curls and tangles. I studied myself in the mirror, stood back, scanned my body. I looked like an over-sexed piece of ass. Bring on the college girls.

I stepped from the bathroom and posed for my son.

"Wow."

He was dressed conservatively, polo shirt, slacks, but nothing could hide that build.

I straightened his collar.

"Let's show them whipper-snappers an old lady who knows how to party."

I turned and headed to the door, an exaggerated waggle to my walk.

We left through the hotel's rear entrance.

* * * *

The party was rolling when we got there, grew wilder. As advertised, the women all wore Daisy Dukes. I checked out the younger women's asses and legs, thought I matched up just fine. The guys, in light of the theme and the free flowing alcohol, felt free to make comments lewd, crude, and lascivious, and I felt more than one hand brush across my backside, but after the crowds in New Orleans these kids were amateurs and, as I'd learned in New Orleans, part of me dug this kind of attention. Here, like New Orleans, I was anonymous and had my wrestling champion of a son to protect me. So guys flirted with me and I flirted right back.

Soon there was a definite buzz, well on its way to a steady flame, building between my legs. Maybe tonight I'd bring myself off in the shower.

There was one guy who went to far. He asked me to dance, reached around, took firm hold of both ass cheeks, and pressed me to his erection. I was about to nail him when Jacob appeared. "That's enough buddy." He slunk away.

I put my arms around my son's neck, kissed his lips - I'd let myself forget how strong and masculine his lips were, how good they tasted - and said, "Still my hero."

"Always," he replied.

The music stopped and Jill walked on to the stage. I'd wondered where she was, I hadn't seen her all night. She looked as good in Daisy Dukes as I'd imagined she would, maybe better.

"Okay everybody, time for the dance contest. We're gonna choose Miss Daisy Duke."

A roar went up.

"Members of the sorority are circulating among you. If one of them taps you on the shoulder please come to the stage."

A minute later a lovely young black women touched my shoulder. I looked at her, genuine surprise in my eyes. Was I supposed to compete with all these kids?

She saw the look in my eyes. "Yes you, go on up."

I looked at Jacob.

He took my chin in his hand, kissed my lips, moved them against mine. The fire smoldering between my legs flared.

"Knock 'em dead."

I worked my way through the crowd. Hand after hand grazed my backside and there were constant comments: "Look at that ass," "Hey hottie," "Whatya doin' later," "Shake it Mama," "What a butt," "I'd like to ride that caboose."

I climbed onto the stage. There were ten of us. The band started up, we started dancing, the crowd shouted encouragement, I caught Jacob's eye, got the thumbs up.

What the fuck. I let go, living in the music, letting it flow through me. I felt the eyes on me, imagined these young men and women heading home, libidos unleashed by my writhing body.

My cunt was on fire.

Jill walked from contestant to contestant, held a hand over each head, listened to the cheers of the crowd, then dismissed us, one at a time, until only two were left. I put on a show, bumping and grinding, playing to the crowd of oversexed men and women half my age, remembering what Jacob had said in New Orleans: I, a hard-bodied older woman, was their fantasy.

Jill pointed at each of us, listened to the revelers bellow their choice. I was Miss Daisy Duke. The other woman kissed my cheek and disappeared. To boisterous screams Jill placed a ribbon across my chest, hugged me. I loved the feel of her strong body on mine. Then her lips were on me, her tongue in my mouth. The crowd grew louder; her hand went to my ass; I kissed her back.

Her mouth was on my ear. "God, you're fucking hot. I envy Jacob tonight."

She let go and I turned. Jacob was standing on the side of the stage. I took a step towards him, but in these shoes, my brain addled by lust, I stumbled. Jacob caught me, placed his hands on my ass, picked me up. I wrapped my legs around him. We kissed, desperate tongues ravenously exploring. The crowd roared.

* * * *

On the way back to the hotel I took Jacob in my mouth. Once there we found a secluded spot at the back of the parking lot, I lay my seat back, pushed my shorts around one ankle. He pulled his pants past his knees. We fucked.

There was no foreplay. We needed none.

He pounded into me, hard and relentless, each thrust rocked my bones. Anyone watching the van would have known what was happening, but I was beyond caring. I came again and again, another orgasm igniting as the prior one crested. I clawed at his back, howled in delight, told him to fuck his mother. He growled, jerked, stiffened, groaned with an intensity that spilled from his pores, and filled me with his cum.

We pulled our clothes back on, entered through the hotel's back door, made it to the room. He took me in his arms, kissed me. I kissed him back.

Jacob was what I wanted. I would deny myself no longer.

* * * *

We showered together, washing each other's hair, dried each other off, sat on the bed. We kissed, taking our time, exploring each other's mouths; his tongue caressed my tongue and lips, slid behind my lips and inside my cheeks. After it ended I could still taste him, a sweet fresh taste.

"I love you."

He smiled. "I love you."

I touched his face and said, "You're my husband now."

His hand on my chest, he lowered me to the bed and took a nipple, engorged and throbbing with blood, in his mouth. Arching my back, I pushed my breast into him and reached for his dick; it was hard, strong, and mighty. I caught a thick drop of pre-cum on a finger tip, licked it off.

I wanted him in my mouth.

Wrapping my fingers around his dick I tugged and ran my tongue along my lips. Jacob straddled my body, his ass on my tits, and guided his cock into my mouth. My tongue flicked out, swirling around the sticky head and he moved forward. I opened my mouth wide and, cradling his balls, drew him within. Rivulets of pre-cum slid across my tongue.

This was what I was meant for, to be my son's lover.

I sucked him, remembering New Orleans, how he'd fuck me, come, get hard, do it again. There was no need to hold back, he could go all night. I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, frigged it in time with his thrusts into my mouth. He placed a hand atop my head. My tongue slathered over his tool; I sucked til my cheeks puckered.

We kept going, his cock spearing in and out of my face. Pressing my lips to its sides, I licked his shaft. His balls, trembling in my hand, pulled back into his body. Groaning, "I'm coming Momma," Jacob filled my mouth with thick heavy cream. I gobbled down what I could, but a few drops dribbled down my chin.

I wanted to swallow more of his intoxicating jizz, but there was something I wanted even more, I wanted him to mark me as his. I pulled his cock from my mouth, twisted my hand on the shaft. He groaned and bathed me with spurt after spurt of hot sticky seed. It splashed across my nose and my lips, splattered my chin and cheeks.