Fine! I'll do the fucking laundry.
I managed not to stomp up the stairs, gathered my dirty clothes and took them downstairs. About to ask Mom how to operate the washing machine, I changed my mind. She was still tapping the air with her foot and seemed all business except that the heel had fallen off her foot and was flapping from her toes with each bounce of her leg. It was strangely sexy but from Mom's composure it evidently wasn't intentional. I walked quietly past her and made my way to the laundry room.
I washed my clothes. I actually did know how to operate the washing machine. I waited until the washer was finished, figuring Mom would ignore me until it was done anyway. After stuffing the clothes into the dryer, I went upstairs.
Mom was still reading the newspaper, for God's sake, and her foot was casually tapping the air although the shoe had fallen completely off but something about her seemed different. I approached cautiously and stopped ten feet away, unsure about disturbing her, and tried to determine what had changed while I was doing the laundry.
There, I had it! Mom had brushed her hair and put on some make-up. It wasn't just lipstick but, lacking sufficient knowledge, I couldn't tell what else. However, her face had definitely experienced some kind of treatment during my absence. I felt a twinge in my pants and moved toward her, my confidence returning.
"When your clothes are finished drying, take them up to your room. Put your socks and underwear away and bring the rest down here to iron."
What the fuck? Did she expect me to do my own ironing too?
I was unable to hide my disappointment and, to make matters worse, I'm pretty sure I noticed Mom smile. Well, if not a smile, at least the corners of her mouth turned up. I stomped once on the way back to the laundry room but was careful to use more measured steps when I returned with the dry clothes. Mom looked fabulous and was still reading the newspaper. It was weird but the strangeness of it all made me even hornier. I couldn't wait to get her up against the fridge. I was sure this was all about paying my dues, at least, I hoped it was.
I did what I was told. I put my clothes away, underwear folded neatly and socks put together in matched pairs, then walked jubilantly downstairs. I didn't hurry. I was savoring what was about to happen.
"Mow the lawn."
Oh, come on! This is too fucking much!
But I did what I was told. I mowed the fucking lawn and didn't rush to make sure I didn't burn the edges. I emptied the clippings into the dumpster at the back of the yard, cleaned the underside of the lawn mower with a putty knife like Dad did, and used a rag to polish the top before putting it away with the cord neatly coiled.
Finally! Now it was my turn.
I entered the house through the back door which opened directly on the kitchen. Mom was making lunch. The table was set for two with a plate and glass in front of each chair.
"Milk," Mom said, but I was already on my way to the fridge.
Mom put sandwiches on the plates and we sat down to eat. My baton, which I had put on while putting my laundry away, clunked against the side of my chair. Despite the noise Mom didn't look at me and we ate in silence. She sat in Dad's spot and read her Kindle, which was placed near the wall so she was facing slightly away from me, while I munched on my sandwiches and looked her over in barely concealed anticipation.
Mom was tapping the air with her now bare foot under the table. The shoes, both of them, were neatly arranged by the table leg beside me. Every third bounce or so, Mom's foot tapped my shins since my legs were stretched out underneath hers.
I looked closely at Mom's face, admiring the skill with which she sparingly applied her makeup. She had class. Inevitably, my gaze dropped down to her breasts for another look at that wonderful, black bra. My mind took a back step.
A button had worked its way loose and the inside edges of the bra were clearly visible. The bra was lacy and followed the contours of Mom's breasts as they swelled together. The ultra-feminine quality of this piece of clothing made me tingle inside my pants and I was struck by a sudden realization that Mom had nice tits. Tits, not breasts. Mom had nice tits.
Sure, they hung down a little but they were a nice size and their slump added to their sex appeal. I especially liked it when Mom's breath expelled and her tits sagged beneath the lace, providing a deeper though brief glimpse of their exquisite, pulsing beauty. God I wanted to touch them. I had to find a way to get my hands on them.
I finished eating and got up. Without waiting for instruction, I gathered up the dishes and took them to the sink to wash them, except for Mom's glass of milk which wasn't yet finished. Quickly, I washed and dried the dishes, then leaned back against the sink and waited.
Mom continued reading, quietly changing pages and ignoring my presence although I'm sure she knew I was there and what I was waiting for. My cock had grown. Not yet a full-fledged erection, it still my understanding that we were now on the breach of what I had been anticipating all morning. My crotch was noticeably swollen but I didn't care. I knew Mom wouldn't dole out any more orders. She had simply been teasing me and was about to reward me for my diligence and patience.
At least, I was pretty sure she was.
Mom finished her milk and held out her glass. Despite my wish to be cool, I grabbed it eagerly.
"Just a half glass," she said.
I froze in mid-turn toward the sink, processing her words and struggling to them to what I had expected. Silently, loathe to betray my frustration, I went to the fridge, filled her glass just over half full, and took it back to her. Mom grasped the glass but didn't acknowledge my kindness with even a glance. She read for another half a minute, then downed the glass in a single gulp. My heart surged.
Mom set her Kindle aside and stretched. She looked at me and smiled. That easily, she tossed aside all the morning's frustrations. I doubt she was aware of the white froth lining her lower lip but the sight of it made my cock tingle furiously. Mom rose and walked toward me, padding sexily across the floor in her bare feet, and handed me her empty glass.
I rinsed the glass, put a drop of dish soap in it, washed it with the dishrag, rinsed it again, and then dried it. Mom watched me, but didn't say a word. I folded the dish towel and walked across the kitchen to hang it on the oven door handle. When I turned back to Mom, I witnessed her pulling the blouse out of her pants. I was stunned. Mom had her back to me and was gazing out the window over the sink.
"It's so nice outside," she commented, freeing the last bit of blouse.
I didn't answer; I was too taken aback. I noticed two dimples in the area just above the twin slopes that continued on to form Mom's buttocks. I didn't know Mom had dimples. Her hands disappeared in front of her. By the movement of her forearms, I could tell she was loosening the lower buttons of her blouse.
Holy shit, exlax!
Mom pulled up the loose bottom of the blouse, tugging it tight around her waist, and tied it in a knot, leaving her midriff bare. When she was done, she turned and walked over to the fridge. There, she peered at the various notes attached by the cutesy little magnets she liked so much. Her behind pushed out when she leaned forward to peer closely at one of them but I liked it even better when she straightened and cocked her hip to bend sideways so she could look at another note half way down the left side, freezer half of the fridge because this made her right buttock bulge out. Straightening up again, Mom put her hands on her hips, and leaned slightly forward but there weren't any notes or magnets directly in front of her face.
What the hell are you waiting for? I thought. This is it, an open invitation.
I moved behind Mom, pulled out the cuffs, but then paused. Mom had noticed the jangle of the cuffs but I hadn't lost my nerve, I just felt it was my turn to make her wait. I now knew how exciting anticipation could be.
So I did nothing, holding the cuffs in my right hand for over a minute. Mom was obviously waiting for me to begin, and seemed impatient. Time began to slow like it had the night before. I could see the skin on the side of Mom's face as if I was looking through a magnifying glass. So feminine, mature, and sexy. Tiny blonde hairlets sprang into focus along the side of her neck, undulating before an undetectable breeze, and her neck pulsed gently as she breathed. I could hear the air suck in, watched her hold it, and heard it expel.
Now, Heck. Do it now.
I returned the cuffs to the case on my belt and retrieved the waist chain instead. Quietly, I slipped it around Mom's waist and secured it, then adjusted the integrated cuffs so one was at the top of each hip. Gently, I lifted each arm in turn and snapped the cuffs around Mom's wrists. Mom waited, arms held beside her hips as if poised to push her hands into her pockets. I let her wait for another minute.
I knelt down behind Mom and started brushing my hands up the sides of her legs the same way I had done it the day before, except I took more time. I was surprised to see that Mom had a small tattoo of a bunny just above her ankle. I was more surprised that I had never noticed it before because it wasn't new. My staid Mom had a tattoo?
I circled the tip of my index finger around the tattoo several times, then flattened my hands more appropriately on Mom's leg and continued up to her knees. There, I brushed my fingertips across the spongy flesh behind her knees before starting up the outside of her thighs, hands moving in parallel. Remaining on my knees, I reached Mom's hips and slid my hands onto her pear-like ass. I paused to savor the press of her cheeks in my palms before sliding my hands down the back of Mom's thighs. I caressed the back of her knees again before switching my hands and proceeding upward again, this time with my palms pressing against the inside of Mom's thighs. I stood as my hands neared her ass and, when I brought them up onto her buttocks, I let them drag up along the inside of her cheeks.
Mom's pear-like ass kept her cheeks well separated so my hands weren't touching when I cupped her buttocks. I looked down to confirm what my hands were telling my brain. Mom wasn't wearing any panties under the Capri's or, if she was, they were pretty skimpy. I couldn't help imparting a gentle squeeze. Mom stirred at that and pulled her tummy forward.
"Stop resisting," I commanded, following her ass in with my hands.
Mom ceased her forward movement. I lingered for a moment, then slid my hands over her hips and onto her bare midriff. There, I traced a path upward onto her blouse until my fingers found the outer swells of her breasts. I slid my hands up and down several times, feeling a lurch in my pants each time my fingers sc****d over the side of her breasts. Becoming more daring, I dropped my hands to the bare skin of her waist and pushed them around in front until they rested on her belly below the bow tying her shirt together.
I felt a large depression under my hand and realized it was Mom's navel. I circled my two index fingers around it, in turn dipping each into the center. Mom flinched and pushed her bum into my erection, whereupon she jolted forward.
"Stop resisting," I hissed.
But Mom jerked forward and back two more times, banging her head softly on the fridge.
"Stop resisting," I commanded, hugging her to me and lifting her feet from the floor.
I turned Mom away from the fridge and walked into the middle of the room, unsure of what to do next.
Had I gone too far?
Mom jerked her legs around, churning her ass on my crotch. My cock loved it and showed its appreciation. Despite the wondrous feeling of Mom's cheeks rubbing around on my cock, I had to put her down. This was way too obvious and I was worried that Mom might put a stop to our game of pretending to practise for my course.
Take her into the living room and put her down on the rug.
Good idea. I moved Mom in that direction but a sudden lunge pulled me off balance and threw us onto the kitchen table. I landed on Mom's back, erection firmly shoved between her supple cheeks, instantly sending alarm bells off in my head. I pulled myself up which unfortunately, depending on the way you looked at it, pressed my boner more firmly against Mom's ass. Reaching around her waist, I pulled Mom up straight. She struggled so I pulled her tight, lifted her off her feet, and walked into the living room, repeating over and over, "Stop resisting."
I don't think I realized until we were in the middle of the room that my hands had slipped up and I was holding Mom by the tits. Going red in the face, I quickly released her and she dropped to her knees, surprised. Automatically, a product of my training, I slipped my baton through Mom's arms and behind her back, immobilizing her. She stopped struggling.
I was panting for breath. So was Mom. What to do now? Using a baton on Mom was going too far. I pulled it out and tossed it on the rug behind me. Leaning forward, I f***ed Mom onto her stomach on the carpet. She was quiet, the picture of submission. Satisfied, I stepped backward and sat down on the couch to catch my breath. I watched Mom. She was breathing lightly but quickly, recovering her breath as I was. Except for her buttocks, which quivered slightly, she was still. Her hands were still secured at her sides by the belt cuffs and her elbows jutted out behind her.
"You can stay there until you stop resisting," I said.
I wasn't sure what to do and thought that might hold Mom at bay while I dreamt up something that would convince her to let me continue 'practising'. After a few minutes, I reached out, grabbed Mom's ankles, and pulled her back toward me until her knees were about a foot from the couch. I held her raised feet between my knees.
Now what? Make her stay still? Yeah, a time-out, like she made me do when I was a k**.
I sat for five minutes. It was boring but I had noted a hint of excitement earlier by the fridge when Mom was waiting for me to do something and I was hoping to capitalize on that anticipation. I spotted the TV remote and reached over to grab it. Despite the momentary freedom, Mom didn't try to move her upturned leg.
I turned on the TV. It was on the nostalgia channel, one of Mom's favorites. The "Walton's" was on. John-boy hadn't yet resolved the current struggle in his rural microworld but his triumph was near and the inevitable lesson would soon be imparted to the viewers. I looked at my watch. Yup, about fifteen minutes to go. Perfect.
When it was over, I made Mom wait through the commercials. "Lassie" was next. I hadn't seen that for ages. Before I knew it, it was half over. I decided to wait it out. Mom had become very docile except for some discomfort evidenced by occasional bum twitches. Contemplating her bottom, I agreed with my initial assessment that she wasn't wearing much under those pants, which I found it hard to believe, but then, there was the lacy black bra, another surprise. Thinking of that reminded me how nice Mom's tits had looked. It seemed she had a nice ass too. The halfway commercials ended and I returned to the TV.
"Lassie" ended and I refocused my attention on Mom's behind. It was twitching more but she hadn't complained. In fact, her legs had relaxed and her feet had fallen against the couch between my legs with the outside edges of her bare feet nestled between my legs and her toes almost reaching the obvious bulge in my crotch. My attention may have been stolen by these old shows but Mom was obviously still having an effect on me.
Okay, time's up. What am I going to do with Mom?
"Dennis the Menace" started. The old show, not the cartoon. I was pulled in yet again.
Mischievous little Dennis, such a little brat, but in the end, an endearing cutie—his mother's delight. The commercials started. I really had to do something with Mom, but what?
I guess I should just let her go.
Before I knew it, the sucky ending with Dennis and his mom was over. I leaned forward to check on Mom, forgetting about the position of her feet. Her toes bent against my crotch. I was startled but reacted quickly, lifting her feet before the contact lasted long enough to seem like a purposeful act on my part. To be safe, I pushed Mom's feet to the outside of my knees and held them there. I looked down.
Mom's bum was twitching faster. I was surprised that she hadn't complained about her discomfort in all this time. I suppose my instructions to 'stop resisting' had been interpreted as real commands. Preoccupied, it was a moment before my mind fully processed the visual evidence before me. I shook my head, not believing what I was seeing. I looked again, leaning so far forward my chest pressed against my knees.
Mom was lying atop the baton. The handle had been f***ed under the couch but the shaft extended out between Mom's thighs and disappeared underneath her so I couldn't see the business end, which was capped by the large rubber pieces we used to protect ourselves when we practised baton work in class. The white cap must be laying directly underneath Mom's pussy and had to be the engine driving her twitching bottom.
"Leave It To Beaver" started up. Upon hearing Mrs. Cleaver's voice, Mom's ass twitched more sharply than before. I wanted to watch the show but Mom's ass was the more appealing attraction. It looked like she was getting off.
I must have stared for three minutes without moving a muscle while Mom rubbed herself on the baton. When I finally did move, I only moved my foot, and then just an inch or so sideways onto the baton. Mom seemed unaware of my foot's presence on the object of her delight. I rolled the baton to the left and marveled at the way Mom's bum followed it, leaning that way. It was only an inch, but she clearly moved to keep her pussy on the stick. I rolled the baton to the right and Mom squiggled her ass after it. Fantastic!
I spent the next ten minutes rolling the baton to the left and back, but sometimes I moved it to the left and then a little farther, delighting in watching Mom's addicted pussy chase after the rubber tipped target of its infatuation. A pleasing sense of power washed through me as I controlled Mom's pelvic movements.
I wondered if she would rub herself on the shaft if I lifted the handle. Unfortunately, it was stuck under the couch. Then I had an idea. I grasped Mom's feet and slowly pushed them forward, until her knees were almost fully bent. I spread my feet to push Mom's knees outward, forcing her thighs wide apart. I was now forcing Mom's pussy to exert maximum pressure on the baton's tip.
While moving her feet gently back and forth, I started rolling the baton from side to side with my foot. Mom sighed, a muted expression of pleasure that sent a bolt through my cock. Mom's ass squiggled about, trying to keep her pussy centered on the baton, and her buttocks clenched and released, clenched and released, as she humped the stick. Whether she wanted to or not, Mom was getting off, despite my presence.
The show would be over soon so I rolled the baton sideways faster and faster and flexed Mom's legs harder, rubbing her pussy on the rubber cap. I pushed her legs so hard, she actually slipped over the end, lifted her ass up, and tried to push herself back to recapture it. I knelt on the floor, grasped Mom's legs closer to her knees, and pushed her back onto the cap. She immediately began squeezing herself onto it harder and I rocked her forward and back, holding her calves just above her ankles. June Cleaver's voice filled the air.