Nothing

Your mind scrambles to find an excuse, some reason, for your hands to be rubbing and groping her ample breasts but comes up with nothing, you brain blanking in your panic as your hands move almost on their own volition. Your shock and panic must be evident on your face as your mother chuckles after a few seconds, obviously amused by your facial expression.

"It's okay, John," she assures you with a small giggle, arching her back slightly, pressing her bountiful mounds into your groping hands. "I don't really mind," your mother almost purrs, her expression a mixture of pleasure and a certain vagueness, "you've got good hands."

"Thanks," you reply dumbly, wondering at her reaction as you notice how dilated her pupils are, how vague her gaze seems to be as she looks up at you. 'It looks like she's high,' you finally conclude, watching her carefully as you notice her nostrils flaring repeatedly as if inhaling some intoxicating fumes. You wonder at her behavior, she should be cursing you, pushing you away from her instead of mewing in pleasure as your hands caress her bare breasts. 'What's gotten into her?' You muse as you reflect on your own actions, admitting how uncharacteristic they are... where did you get the courage to actually suggest a full body massage to your mother or ask her to see her breasts? Your questions are pushed aside as your mother moves slightly beneath you, her hands reaching up to caress your chest and shoulders through your shirt. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears as her fingers cup the back of your neck, gently pulling you down towards her.

"This is nice," she breathes as her lips brush against yours, teasing you briefly before kissing you.