“Do it like before, sugar,” she murmured, “with both hands.”
I froze like a guilty thing, but she wasn’t looking back.
Pushing myself up, I let go of my erection, swiped some cream, and resumed the deep tissue massage of her bottom. My heart raced like a thief’s.
I needed to put my penis away, but my hands were occupied. And even if I drew one hand back, my erection was impossibly rigid. I didn’t think I could tuck it away with one hand. Beyond those concerns was the simple truth that it felt good to have it out and to see it near her big bottom.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Mom sighed.
I squeezed her again, and she moaned. The sound made me feel reckless again. Grasping the two halves in each hand, I massaged her so as to spread her wide apart, to bare her little secret to me.
There it was.
Mom gasped.
Relaxing for a moment, I massaged and pried again.
Yeah.
Mom’s breath caught in her throat.
And again.
“Oh!” she moaned.
Almost unable to speak, I couldn’t recognize my own voice when I asked her if she needed me to put the ointment on the inside again.
“Please do, if–if you don’t object.”
“I don’t,” I wanted to say, but the words caught in my throat at the surge of exhilaration I felt.
I gathered a small amount and, rather than coating the side of my hand, I used the fingertips of my middle and index fingers to make little circles. Starting at her lower back, those fingers massaged deeply and crept downward. Down and into the gap. Further.
Mom’s breath came in fits and starts. Sometimes, she held it. Others, she drew small rapid chuffs. In between, she gasped.
Gathering more, I resumed, now rubbing circles on the tender flesh all around her tiny star. When I finished the outer ring, I hesitated. Then, I decided not to ask permission. I depressed my fingertips onto the taut wrinkles in the center spot.
Mom sighed.
I made the circles, gathering the sensation and holding it in my mind. My middle finger passed over the entry point. The texture changed. Something tightened. And relaxed. The tip of my middle finger dipped–ever so slightly–into the passage.
I drew it back in astonishment.
The halves of Mom’s fanny clenched together, and she said, “That–.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “That will do, sugar.”
Breathing as if having finished a face, I stared down at her bottom.
Mom said, “I’m sorry to have asked such a thing of you, but it helps a great deal. You may–you may dismount me now.”
I had to clear my own throat before responding, “Yeah. Okay.”
As rapidly as I could, I opened my briefs with one hand and, easing my hips back, drew my erection inside of my shorts. Sliding my hand between the shorts and my tummy, I realigned the rod to ride up my belly, pinned to it by the waistband and belt of my shorts.
The zipper, I decided, would be too noisy. I left it open.
I climbed off Mom and sat with my back to her on the side of the bed.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you keep telling me ‘don’t make fun’ or ‘save your comments’ and stuff like that?”
I looked over my shoulder at her. She had just finished turning her face towards me. She curtly said, “I think you know how I can be quite sensitive about my appearance.”
“What’s wrong with your appearance?”
She blinked for a moment, surprised by the implied compliment, it seemed. “Well, I–I don’t have the body of an eighteen-year-old girl anymore like the ones in your school. I’m a grown woman with a large fanny, and I know there’s a touch of hail damage back there. Since I’m splayed out naked on this bed, I don’t need to hear any wise remarks about such things.”