Admit it, you're busted

"Well, John?" your mother asks as you try desperately to come up with what to say, some reasonable excuse for being caught ogling her. Finally you admit to yourself that you can't come up with a plausible story.

"I... yeah, I like your breasts, Mom," you confess a little sheepishly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "They're pretty spectacular for a woman your age. Hell, they're pretty spectacular for a woman of any age," you assure her.

"Really?" she asks, somewhat shocked at your honesty and a little flustered at the compliment.

"Yeah, all my friends in high school used to comment on them," you tell her, thinking that you probably shouldn't tell her some of the other things your friends used to say about her, as your hands move off her arms to rest just below her breasts.

"I... I never knew," she breathes in shock, obviously enjoying the idea of several teenagers appreciating her natural endowments.

"May I... may I see them?" you ask tentatively, your thumbs lightly caressing the bottom of her bra as your hands rest on her ribcage.

"What?" your mother asks wide eyed, her hands moving up to cover her breasts protectively as if you would simply tear her bra away if she refuses. "I don't... that's not a good idea, John." she tells you hesitantly.

"Come on, Mom," you persist, your thumbs continuing to make light teasing passes across the bottom of her breasts. "Just one quick look," you promise before adding, "as payment for the massage."