Packing with Mom

As you blush and smirk at Robin, you're hit with a sort of bombshell realization of the true depth of power you have at your disposal. You quickly grab your suitcase and an armful of random clothes and head down the hall to your parents' room. There is your mom, hurrying to get her things ready--or rather, to get yours and Robin's dad's things ready.

Your dad, Larry, was always running late to these sorts of family events, leaving his wife, Heather, to do the packing, planning, and prepping for whatever family outing, vacation, or road-trip she had in mind.

It was kind of sad, you realize as you watch your mother with a twinge of sympathy. Larry provides for all of you, but he was entirely absent when he had even the flimsiest excuse. And it's not like Heather wasn't a catch. On the contrary, Heather was a catch by any standards. Sure, she had a bit of the frumpy mom-style, but even that was fashionable in its way. And her gorgeous looks were strong, but also youthful and elegant. A lot of neighbors and even kids at your school would joke that she must've been fifteen and pregnant to look so young and have two kids, but she was just that lucky. Her red hair was cut mid-length and tossed back from her face: an attractive but easy to maintain mom-cut if ever there was one. She had a pale, Irish look, with rosy cheeks, slender lips, and green eyes. And her body was ridiculously curvaceous--with F-cup breasts and broad hips and rear-end to support that hourglass figure of hers. She was always trying to workout and complaining about it, but the fact was that she was a bombshell in a suburban mom wrapper.

"Hey mom," you say, setting the suitcase and dresser-load of clothes on the bed beside her. "Do you think you could help me out? I'm not really sure what to pack. I mean, I have a lot of ideas, but I'd kinda like to get your direction." "Oh sweetie," Heather sighs as she starts to go through the clothes and pick through the selection. "Is Robin making it hard for you to concentrate? I'm sorry for snapping at you just now. It's just your father saved everything for the last minute. Again."

"Yeah, sorry about that," you say, voice trailing off as Heather leans over the bed to reach past the suitcase to grab a shirt.

You can't help yourself. Your hands move over her backside and squeeze the plush, round melons of her plump backside. You feel the line of her panties through the denim, and your hands tease up and along that textured line without much thought of what you're doing.

"Michael!" Your mother gasps urgently as you have her pinned over the bed, groping and fondling her ass longingly. "What're you doing?!"

You panic. For a second you wonder if the rulebook might have limited charges, or spotty powers. "I ... um ... I ... was ... finding you attractive?" you stammer hopefully. "You know: boys will be boys?"

Heather looks over her shoulder at you. "You what?" she asks softly, pressing her lips together and blushing. "You think I'm so hot you can't keep your hands off me? I'm so flattered sweetie!" She smiles and turns back to the packing. "Of course, you better get it out of your system while your father's out. You know he won't understand like Robin and I do."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. Dad," you say, realizing that he won't exactly let you carry on like this when he gets home. And your mom clearly doesn't want to risk it, either. You quickly pull out the rulebook and pencil in a new line...

New Rule: What Larry doesn't know won't hurt him: the Bedford family can do what they want as long as Larry doesn't find out.

"You know, actually, I was thinking..." you say, setting the rulebook aside and settling in behind your mom. Your hands move back to rub over her backside, only this time she wiggles her hips around appreciative at the compliment of being handled like this. Your pants bulge as your erection throbs achingly, which you help relax by leaning forward and settling your bulge in the heat of her saddle. "What Larry doesn't know won't hurt him, right?"

"Oh, Michael..." Heather moans, leaning across your packed suitcase and clenching her backside up at your eager hands. "I guess so--he doesn't need to know, and boys will be ... mmmmpf ... will be boys!"