Hot Summer Housework with Mom

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Of course, we both knew that, and had dressed accordingly. I wore some light-weight grey cotton gym-shorts. No underwear. I knew my balls would be sweaty enough as-is. On top, I wore a simple white tank-top undershirt – a ‘wife beater,’ if you will. Mom too wore a more feminine white tank top – or camisole, with delicate ‘spaghetti’ straps. The cami’s thin fabric did little to mask the pink lace bra she wore underneath – apparently a matching set with her thong. Nor did the sheer lace of her bra, do much to hide the dark, prominent nipples that topped her perky B-cup breasts. Damn, my Mom did look fine!

She kept up a steady stream of chatter as she pulled items out, handing things to me and telling me which pile to place them in. Most of the top layers consisted of her old clothes. And to her credit, Mom was almost ruthlessly determined to make progress. And I was happy to watch her as she’d bend forward presenting her marvelously shaped little ass to my eager vision. I found that as she bent and flexed, the already thin fabric of her yoga pants would stretch and her golden skin would become more visible beneath – revealing the perfect spheres of her butt. I was mesmerized by that pink lace thong. My eyes following the thin strand of fabric as it disappeared into the mysterious paradise between her butt cheeks. And I promised myself that I would find that thong after my Mom changed clothes – and I would inhale her sweet musky scent.

A couple hours passed, and we’d progressed about two-thirds of the way toward the back of the closet. But that New York humidity was causing us to work up quite a sweat. My Mom is of Italian descent. And she has the wonderful olive skin of her ancestors – kissed by the Mediterranean sun. Now, in that midsummer afternoon, her luminous skin was aglow with a fine sheen of perspiration. Her dark brown hair was pulled up high in a pony tail, but a few loose strands of damp hair clung to her shapely neck. And her white camisole had became translucent across her back. All I could think about was how much I wanted to lick the curve of her neck; to taste the sweat from the small of her back; to follow the contours of her body with my tongue.

3.

“Whew!” she exclaimed, “I’m sweating like a pig in here! Why don’t we take a little A/C break?”

“Anything you say, Boss.”

Standing in her blessedly refrigerated bedroom, we drank our lemonades and chit-chatted for awhile about the progress we’d made, and what still needed doing. As we spoke, I couldn’t help but notice the effect that the A/C was having on her nipples. Try as I might to avoid directly staring, my eyes were irresistibly drawn back to those two lovely, prominent protrusions. And, because we were standing more or less face to face, my mother couldn’t help but notice the direction of my involuntary glances. A slight smile played at the corner of her lips.

“Damn, this A/C feels good!” she said, turning and stepping toward the mid-sized unit positioned on her window-sill. With her back toward me she bent at the waist, leaning forward until her face was mere inches from the vents pumping out that icy goodness. She took her time, and I reveled in the wonderful sight of her up-turned ass, and crotch. My cock, which had already been in a state of semi-hardness for the past two hours, now awoke with a renewed vigor. As blood rushed to fill my member, I marveled at the sight of mom’s black tights, clinging damply to the well-defined cleft of her labia.

She raised her torso just a bit so that the vents were now blowing directly down her neck, chest and tits. Again, she took her time, making soft sounds of pleasure every so often. Then, still leaning forward, she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her yoga pants, and folded the elastic waistline down her hips by about six inches – revealing the top few inches of that lacy thong – just before it plunged into her ass crack. She looked back at me over her shoulder, and said coyly, “I hope you don’t mind my underwear.”

“Um… no… not at all, Mom.”

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