My name is Seth. I'm a typical American teenager living in Georgia. By typical, I mean that I'm kind of a nerd. I'm not cool and I don't have a large circle of friends at school. My parents divorced when I was 7 and I've been living with my mom ever since. Her name is Rose and we have always had a very friendly relationship. My mom was the "cool mom" in the neighborhood. All the kids wanted to play at my house cause she made everyone feel like they could let loose a little without judgement. She would laugh and joke with us as we played and when we got older, she would tease and flirt (harmlessly) with the guys.
I have always had hobbies growing up. I built model cars and planes. I did the pine car races. I loved music. But my biggest hobby was drawing and art. I got to be quite good at it and I even sold some of my work at a craft fair or two. Once I hit my late teens, I started to develop an interest in tattoos. I didn't want to get any. I wanted to be the tattoo artist. I would pore over tattoo magazines and look at designs on the internet.
For my 18th birthday, mom got me a beginner's tattoo kit. It came with a couple of tattoo machines and some needles and ink. I was thrilled. I thanked her over and over. She just smiled and made me to promise to give her a free tattoo when I was a famous artist. Of course, I agreed.
Let me pause here to describe my mother. At 36 years old, my mom was what most guys would consider a "MILF". She was very pretty, with shoulder length hair, a slim waist, curvy hips and impressive boobs. I never really looked at her in any way other than as a mom, but we both had a flirty sense of humor. We would often joke around and the double entendres would fly back and forth.
For the first 6 months after I got my tattoo kit, I practiced a lot. I watched internet videos and read all I could find. I practiced on fake skin. I even got some of my friends to let me practice on them. There are a few amateurish tattoos floating around my town, thanks to me. But eventually, I began to develop a style and grew confident in my abilities. I began to move away from the usual tattoo flash and began to draw my own designs. I even got to tattoo one of them on Casey, who was the hottest cheerleader at school. She let me do a small tribal bear on her left butt cheek. Man, I thought that it couldn't get any better than that!
One night, about 9 months after getting my kit, mom and I were sitting around watching TV. During a commercial break she asked me how the tattooing was going. I told her that I was enjoying the hell out of it and told her about some of my better designs. She wanted to see some of them so I got the photo album of my work out to show her. As we sat next to each and flipped through the pages, she remarked on how much I improved from my earlier work. I thanked her and told her that it was just from practice. After we finished the album, she asked if I would do a tattoo on her. I immediately agreed and asked what she had in mind. She said something small and unobtrusive. I made a few suggestions that I thought she might like and we settled on a cute skull design. I told her I would draw something up and we could do it this coming Saturday. She agreed.
For the next two days I drew and redrew a design for her. When Saturday came I presented it to her for approval. She loved it! I asked her where she wanted it and she said that she wanted it someplace where people wouldn't see it. She pointed to a spot on her left boob, and said to put it there. I pretended to be shocked and joked that people might think she was a loose woman.
"Well, I never" she replied with mock indignation. I said that she did at least once as I was living proof of that. We laughed and I started setting up my gear.
We sat at the kitchen table and she took off her shirt, leaving her bra on. I told her that she would have to either remove the bra as well, or at least uncover the one breast. She pulled the strap down from her left shoulder and exposed a beautiful D cup boob. At this point, I went into "professional tattoo artist mode" and started placing the stencil. I tried to avoid handling her breast as much as possible, but I was going to have to manipulate it to do the actual tattoo.
Mom asked me the usual questions about whether it hurt, how to care for it, and the like. As we chatted about what to expect during and after the tattoo, I kept my attention on what I was doing.
"Here we go. Last chance to change your mind" I said as I picked up my tattoo machine.
"You've already seen my saggy boob. I need to get something out this for my embarrassment" She replied.
"Not to worry Mom. I'd stack your boobs up against any that I've seen. They're Playboy magazine quality...without the staples" I joked.
I began to work on the tattoo. I had to move and stretch the skin of her boob as I worked and my hands were in constant contact with her breast and nipple. I worked at a steady, careful pace and soon the outline was done. I switched to a shader and went to grab her boob again. I noticed that her nipple was hard and her breathing had changed a bit. I initially took it to be a reaction to the pain of the tattoo needles, but soon I realized that my mom was becoming aroused. Her thighs were tensing and she started to bite her bottom lip as she watched my hands at work.
The realization of what was happening to her caused me to start to become excited as well. I started to get a hardon and prayed that she wouldn't notice. I don't know if she saw it or not, but listening to her breathing was making me as hard as I'd ever been.
All too soon, the tattoo was done. I sat back and admired my work. Mom let out a deep breath and looked down at her decorated tit.
"I love it! Thank you honey!" she gushed. I took out my phone and snapped a couple of shots of the tattoo. I also took one that included her face and her entire breast hanging out, but I didn't show her that one. As mom left to go upstairs and clean up, I took a moment to compose myself and clean up my gear. About 10 minutes after she left the room, I carried my gear upstairs to put it away in my room. As I passed by my mom's bedroom door, I heard a soft moan come from inside. I paused and listened and heard another moan. Was my mother playing with herself?
