Watching Her

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and of legal age of consent.

*****

He had watched her so many times standing outside her opened bedroom door as she prepared herself for her night-shift job. As was her habit, she seemed to pay no attention to him as he stared into the room, absorbing every nuance of her semi-clothed movements. She stood before the mirror in her half-slip and lacy bra applying makeup to her eyes, her cherub cheeks, her full lips, primping her beach-blond hair; the aroma of her intoxicating perfume thick in the air, amply applied, and to him, thoroughly arousing.

He intently drank in the expanse of her broad fleshy back, her skin as clear and delicate as pink alabaster in contrast to the stark white of the bra straps which dug into her soft, plump shoulders. The bra's multi-clasped band pinched the circumference of her full, mature torso, the weight of her breasts pulling the whole apparatus slightly upward due to the contravening weight of her heavy bosom.

He saw his own reflection in the mirror, watching her, his face flushed with tense sexual arousal. In the reflection he could see the front of her too, her tits puffing out of the confines of her too-tight bra, the crease of her deep cleavage undulating enticingly as she moved about reaching for items on her dressing table. Her smooth round tummy, convex and protruding beneath the supports of her bra cups, was pinched slightly by the elastic of her slip positioned just below her belly button.

He could easily make out the shadow of her white panties beneath the satiny smoothness of her glossy slip, the elastic of the leg openings pinching her thick, soft, ample thighs, the waistband stretched to full exertion around her thick middle, the nylon fabric stretched tightly over her wide and sumptuously round ass and hips. The slit in her slip was cut high and trimmed with delicate lace, and ran up the back revealing a tantalizing portion of her creamy thighs as she moved about.

How many times had he imagined her plump middle-aged, stout body, naked, soft, and warm, pressed against him and yielding to his deliriously groping touch, giving herself to him, her son, with as much raw lust and desire as he held for her? How often had he dreamed of kissing her soft lipsticked lips, not as a son but as a devoted supplicant; welcoming her tongue into his mouth, inhaling her passionate breath, and hearing her moan his name over and over as he tasted her wanton, salivating, hungry kisses.

How desperately he wanted to hold her deeply cleaved breasts in his hands, adoring them, worshiping them, covering them with grateful kisses, drowning in their elegant softness. Oh, if only he could suckle one, even for a quick moment! He craved to plunge his hand beneath the waistband of her panties, to explore the velvety soft roundness of her belly and hips, and to delve deeply between her robust mature thighs and cup her tufted sex as he ground his pelvis against the bulbous flesh of her broad round pale-white ass.

He knew the devilish, animal scent of her. He had held her soiled underpants in his hands, and unbeknownst to her, had even on occasion worn them to school, to work, and at home. He had languished in the heavy aroma of her juicy vaginal leavings mixed with the fragrance of her heady cologne. How many times a day, every day, had he brought himself to shattering orgasms while tasting her musky remnants; her soiled and yellowed panties in his mouth, stroking his small engorged cock with youthful and devoted yearning, swept away and intoxicated by the bitterly delicious remains of her nether parts.

How he loved to rummage through her hamper immediately after she changed clothes to find her cast off brassier, still warm and laden with her sweaty scent. Holding the substantial cups over his face he would inhale deeply with eyes closed and see in his mind the soft thick breasts once cradled in the lacy fabric, his prick throbbing with lust, his tongue licking the places that perhaps her nipples had rested only moments earlier.

There was nothing of hers that he did not love and desire. Alone, at home in the evenings while she was away at work, he could not keep his mind on anything apart from her. Often he would spend the full evening adorned in her cast off underthings - soiled panties, bra, pantyhose and high heels - his chubby body accommodating her plus-size garments well enough.

Strutting around the house or standing before the mirror he would act out lewd scenarios in which he played the part of his mother, seducing him, her innocent, devoted son until finally, with his passions boiling over, he would pull his prick out and stroke himself while pretending that mother was on her knees hungrily sucking his cock or on all fours while he entered her from behind, slamming with resounding slapping force into her quivering wide ass, until he came with shattering, violent spurts.

With all his being, he wanted to know what surely only a few of her lovers have known. He had never wanted anything so much or with as much passion. He was tired of living on her sexual outskirts, gasping after any cast-off sullied thing of hers that gave him teasing hints to her hidden blessed treasures. Bras, panties, hose, shoes, all of these were sacred icons of hers, things to worship her from afar, to use in the mystical acts of holy masturbation in adoration of her and her alone; her forever, his living goddess.

He was a lonely 19 year old, few friends, over weight, withdrawn, introspective, a bastard child who had never known his father, unable to hold down a job. Girls his own age were out of the question. Who would have him, and could he really blame them? He was keenly and painfully aware of his own short-comings. Mother had tried to encourage him to seek nice friends, to be more assertive, but he could not sufficiently clear his mind of her enough to pursue these things with any genuine interest. And to be sure, she never pushed him very hard in these endeavors. She was happy to have her son close to her where she could protect and coddle him as she had done all his life.

He was a mama's boy in a very real and complete sense. Why didn't she see that? Why had she raised him this way? She gave him everything he wanted except the one thing he really desired. Why did she prance around the house half naked if she did not want him too? Did she enjoy teasing him with these unabashed glimpses of her voluptuous figure? Why did she allow him to see her like this, nearly naked in her intimate apparel, flaunting her big beautiful body? For as long as he could remember, she allowed him to see her this way, clad only in panties and bra, her beautifully plump smooth and perfect skin quavering beneath her most intimate and lacy apparel. Didn't she know that she was driving him insane with lust? Didn't she know that he was no longer a little boy and that he had manly urges and manly needs?

He watched her now more intently. Every fiber of his being focused laser-sharp on his beautiful plump goddess. He felt the blood pounding through his veins with each powerful heartbeat, his face deeply flushed with the heat of desire, his swollen prick begging to be released and satisfied. Backing away from her dressing table, she sat on the edge of the bed and slipped her hands into the legs of a pair of pantyhose.

Crossing one chubby leg over the other she daintily inserted her shapely foot into the sheer fabric, adjusted the toe into position and slowly pulled the stocking over her full round calf and up just over her knee. After repeating this process on the other leg, she stood, reached down and began to slither into the stocking legs as she wiggled her luscious ass from side to side, pulling the hose up as she went.

He noticed that she was saying something, chattering away about something or another, but he did not understand or hear her clearly. His entire reality was focused on the movements of her beautiful plump body. His heart was racing, beating madly in his ears, drowning out any other external sounds. As she pulled the pantyhose higher, her slip began to bunch up at her waist revealing her thick upper legs. Soon her panties came into view as she pulled the hose snugly over her bulbous ass, then reached between her legs and smoothed the sheer fabric over her crotch.

Involuntarily he reached down and took hold of his stiffness and squeezed his cock rhythmically. Mother continued to chatter away in her one way conversation while she stepped into her dress. Pulling it up over her ass, she slid each arm through the arm holes, then smoothed the dress down over her wide hips and protruding bosom. Help zipper me would you, hon? She was looking at his reflection in the mirror as she spoke but he made no move towards her. Can you zip me please, baby? She asked again. Slowly he moved toward her and came to a stop behind her wide frame.

He knew that she was saying something but he could not make out what it was, his focus completely absorbed by the sight of her smooth fleshy back. All he could hear was the pounding, pounding, pounding of his heart. As if in a trance, he took hold of the zipper and paused a moment to inhale her intoxicating scent - the smell of her freshly washed skin, the scent of her hair, the elixir of her cologne. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating around her and enveloping him. He moved his face as close to her as he could without touching her, desperately wanting to press his lips against her pale plump shoulder. He was transfixed, aroused, and lost in his erotic dream world.

Feeling his hot breath on her back, her body tensed at the sensation. She looked toward the mirror to get a glimpse of him, but could not discern what he was doing. What are you doing back there? She asked irritatedly. I'm going to be late, just zip me will you? Reaching back her hand, she swatted at him to create some space between them.

At that moment, something inexplicably wicked snapped inside him. All his youthful emotion spoke to him at once, commanded him, and took control of his mind and his actions. In a flash of movements too quick to countermand he grabbed her dress at the shoulders and violently yanked it down, trapping her arms at the waist.

With his left hand he reached around her torso and grasped at her breasts, tearing at the lacy fabric of her bra, attempting to take hold of her cradled tit flesh. With his other hand he dove deeply inside the elastic of her half-slip, panties, and hose and began to probe between her ass cheeks in search of her juicy organs. Caught completely off guard, it took her several seconds to understand what was happening to her. Stop! She called nervously. Wha-what are you doing? Stop it! She demanded as she squirmed, desperately trying to free her arms.

But he paid no heed to her demands and it became abruptly apparent to her that he was not being playfully precocious. Like a wild animal who has caught wind of the rutting scent, he clawed at her tits with his left hand and simultaneously drove his right hand deeper inside her panties while he kept himself tightly pressed against her body, limiting her movements and preventing her from turning around or getting free.

Frantically, she twisted and turned in an attempt to free her arms from the confinement of her dress, and once having accomplished her freedom, she began to fend off his attack. As quickly as she was able to remove his hand from her breasts, he was back again with renewed vigor and purpose, but she was hard-pressed to defend herself against his two-pronged attack. In spite of her squirming, he managed to get his right hand deep into the crack of her ass. Finding the pucker of her anus, he fingered the spongy orifice roughly for a moment before driving his hand further down in search of her vaginal slit. Stop it! She screamed. What are you doing! You bastard! Stop it! Don't! Don't do this!

They struggled for several minutes until finally, with all of her strength she took hold of the groping hand at her breast, muscled it away from her, and spun herself around to face him, his other hand coming free from her panties at the same time. Undeterred, he kept up his assault, clawing and grasping at her bra in an attempt to free her tits, and then alternately switching his attack to grasp her waistband in an attempt to pull down her dress and panties.

She fought him off valiantly while frantically screaming at him to stop. Taking hold of her bra with both hands he desperately tore at her quavering tits trying to pull one free, when finally, with all her strength, she raised her fully extended arm, found an opening, and landed a solid slap across his flushed face. Once, twice more she slapped at him with all her might until a final solid blow sent him reeling onto her bed.

He laid there a moment, exhausted, breathing erratically, and rubbing his stinging cheek. They were both exhausted, sweating, and gulping air from the exertion, tears of anger and fear dribbled down his mother's round flushed cheeks, her makeup smeared and running. For a quick moment, their eyes met, hers filled with shame and angry shock, his filled with unquenched, unfulfilled lust, a face she had never seen before.

Looking down at him, she saw the bulge in his trousers and immediately understood the primal look in his eyes. Oh, god! She wept. Oh, god, no! But no sooner had the words left her lips, than he was on her again, with renewed purpose and commitment.

With a quickness she did not expect, he lurched forward in a crouching stance, took hold of the waistband of her dress and pulled it and her undergarments down to her knees in one powerful, ravenous motion. Her movements now restrained, she nearly toppled over for lack of balance. Standing as close to her as he could in order to minimize her slapping assault, he resumed his efforts to free her tits from their lacy confinement.

Frustrated, ashamed, and frightened, she repeatedly begged him to stop as she fought him, but he could not, would not hear her. He had one thought only, one purpose only, and that was to satisfy his need to have her any way he could. His cock was raging hard and fully controlled his thoughts - that one thought being to use this woman for its own lustful satisfaction.

No thought of the consequences entered his mind. He was a wild beast, no longer human but raw, organic, with the basest animal needs and instincts his only guide and master. She pummeled him with blow after blow but he seemed to be oblivious to her defenses - his passion giving him strength and purpose he had not never had before.

She wept openly as she bravely fought but soon he began to have the advantage over her. Grasping the front of her bra with both hands and using all the animal strength he had, he lifted the entire apparatus up and over her fat breasts. The soft flabby monsters plopped onto her belly with a distinctive slapping sound and jiggled fluidly as he gasped and pulled them, their large pink areola dancing invitingly before his hungry piercing gaze.

Grabbing one breast roughly in his hand, he brought it up to his mouth and slurped at it as best he could amidst all his mother's squirming movements. With his free hand he opened his trousers, pushed them down far enough to expose his cock, and began furiously dry humping her soft flabby belly.

Oh, god! She wailed as he slobbered over her tightly clenched tit, his prick stabbing at her like a rutting dog in heat. Stop it! Stop! But he was too far gone to relent and had no intentions other than to satiate his overwhelming sexual needs. She was quite exhausted from the struggle, sweating and fighting for breath, but with all the strength she had left, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed with all her might, hoping to free herself from his painful clawing grasp.

The energy of her thrust sent him tumbling to the floor but the same fierce thrust caused her to lose her balance - her dress and panties still bound around her knees - and she toppled backwards crashing into the wall opposite where he lay. Momentarily stunned, she sat on the floor, knees spread apart, revealing the deep red flesh between her thighs and her tufted cunt.

Her breasts were exposed and dangling, splayed to either side of her belly, and swayed fluidly as she cried uncontrollably. Deeply horrified and exhausted she covered her face with her arm and wailed pitifully. Her breast pained her where he had torn at it so savagely, bruises already forming where his powerful grip had crushed it between his pinching fingers.

Slowly he got to his feet, his trousers slipping to his ankles. He stood over her, panting like a man who had run a long race, and watched her as she cried her forlorn tears. His mind had gone blank and he felt as if he had awakened from a strange other-worldly dream. There at his feet was his dear mother, the object of his affection, his goddess, torn and broken, breasts, belly, and cunt lewdly exposed, laying in a sad and rumpled heap on the floor. She looked so pitiful laying there and as he watched her, the spirit of the beast began to leave him.

The fire that had once stoked the sexual fury in him was being quenched by the tears of the pitiful woman crumpled and cowering before him. He could have her easily now. She was beaten. He could take her and fulfill his most urgent longings, but all he could feel for her now was pity and compassion. After long moments of indecision, he looked down at his dangling limp cock, took it into his hand and gave it a few encouraging pulls, but the shriveled little dick would not respond; it had gone as limp as his emotions.

Solemnly he pulled up his trousers, turned and walked out of the room to the sounds of her miserably sad weeping. Retreating to his room, he stood before the window and stared into the darkening gloom of night unsure of what would happen next.

Sometime later, he heard his mother dialing the phone in the hall. Was she calling the police? Somehow he did not seem to care, she had every right to have him arrested. He deserved to be punished for his unspeakable crime against her. Who could protect her when these urges would fill him again to the boiling point and spill over into another spontaneous sexual assault? How could he ever face her again after such a bizarrely vicious attack?

As he stood contemplating his fate, he could hear her sniffling voice speaking through the receiver. No, I won't be able to come to work tonight, she said to someone, I'm, um, not feeling well tonight.

A few moments later he heard her enter his room. Honey? She said, in a small, soft, pleadingly tentative tone. What would he say to her in answer? How could he face her? She had every right to hate him, to disown him. The shame and guilt of what he had done began to crash down on him with its full weight as he heard her shuffling approach.

Still facing the window, he could see her reflection as she advanced. She had covered herself in a bathrobe and had her arms folded beneath her breasts hugging herself tightly. Without a word, she stood very close behind him and hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder causing him to flinch from the unexpected contact. Sniffing back the last of her tears, she rested her head between his shoulders. The awkward silence that followed was heavy in the air, neither of them knowing how to restore normality to their shattered relationship.

It's OK, baby, she finally whispered, It'll be OK. On hearing these words of tender, motherly reassurance the flood gates of his throbbing heart opened wide and he began to weep with unabated sorrow. I'm... so... sorry... He wailed between gulping breathes, his shoulders heaving with sorrow.

Shhhh..., she whispered comfortingly, It's OK, baby. Reaching over his shoulder she grasped the window shade and pulled it down, then opened her bathrobe and pressed her plump naked body against his back and wrapped her arms tightly around him.