Laid bare to each other

The sound of the front door closing still reverberates through the air as your mother reaches out a hand for yours. You give her your hand, and she quickly leads you out of the living room, downstairs, and to your room. Opening the door, she drags you in. Not bothering or willing to take the time to shut the door, she immediately pulls open the cinch of her robe, and with a quick shrug of the shoulders, it falls off her back, leaving her standing in front of you nude. She stands still for a moment, allowing you to admire her form once again. Her hair, falling just below the shoulders, is already tousled and mussed. One of her breasts seems to possess a soft but developing bruise that you realize is a hickey from this morning. Her nipples are firmly erect, with a ruddy red hue from the blood coursing through them seeming to outline their sharp, fully extruded edges. The skin of her body is smooth; even the breasts, which sag slightly, have none of the loose extra skin that seems to come to some with middle age, and her stomach, though faintly and almost invisibly marked with spidery stretch marks from multiple childbirths, is still taut. Your eyes are presented with a lovely hourglass figure, feasting on her breasts, then focusing in on the tight stomach, then drawn down and again to a feast of her hips, their wideness accentuating and drawing attention to the V between her legs. Your eyes do not make it down to the rest of her legs, which is a shame, for they are shapely as well; rather, your attention is drawn to her groin. Her pubic area is shaved, but for an inch wide strip of closely trimmed hair that ascends a few inches right above her vagina. Because you are both standing, you cannot see any more, but the strip of trimmed hair draws you in.

You hear a wet sound, and your eyes return to your mother's face. She is licking her lips, and the silence in the room is so deep that the sound of it is allowed center stage, and your undivided attention. With your eyes on hers, your mother reaches out and places a hand on each of your hips. Still staring into your eyes, and never looking away, she non-verbally demands your full attention on her face as her hands slide down your hips, hook underneath your shirt, then both come around to the front. Her fingers trail lightly over the fabric, but you can still feel it as they slide briefly over your erect cock. You feel disconnected from your body, your attention held by your mother's soft, intent, urging and hungry eyes, and barely notice as her fingers undo the button clasp of your pants, then the zipper, allowing gravity to pull the pants to the floor. Still locked in her eyes, you feel her fingers hook the top of your undershorts, and lightly, gently, as if by a breeze, they are lowered, until your thighs thin slightly and they tool fall to the ground. Freed from the elastic waistband, your heavy cock falls slightly, pulling out on your baggy, hanging shirt.

Her eyes flick downward quickly to take in the sight, but before are fully free from their hypnotic spell, her hands on are your face, and her fingers lightly touch your eyebrows in a descending motion, naturally causing your eyelids to close. You can imagine the sight, however, since you can feel what is causing it: the shirt brought to a point, many inches from your body. The delicate fingers touch your eyelids, and you understand their meaning; for the moment, your eyes are to remain closed. Her hands grasp your wrists, and lift your arms to be straight above your head. You feel your shirt being lifted up and off your body, and in the heavy quiet hear it slump to the floor. Your mother's hands again grip your wrists, this time guiding them to her; her right hand on your right wrist leads your hand to grip her upper left bicep; her left hand on your left wrist does the same to her right bicep. With what must be crossed arms, your feel her hands pressing down on top of yours, and you grip her her upper arms firmly. You then again feel her fingertips on your eyelids, and they brush up across your eyebrows, lifting your lids open. This last task done, her arms fall slowly, deliberately to her side, but you hardly notice, your eyes having instantly locked on to her face.

And so you two stand, both fully upright, fully naked, with only a foot of air between you. The only contact between you is your palms and fingertips, gripping your mother's firm (if not overly muscular) upper biceps. Your cock juts, caught in a battle between the pressures of loins and gravity, hanging perpendicularly to your body, pointing true as an arrow at your mother's loins, urging to close the gap, but separated by inches. The house around you is deathly silent. The only sounds in the room are your collective breathing, coming slowly and deeply, and the dull, insistent thudding of your own blood in your ears.Again you stare into each other's eyes. You marvel at the mix of ferocity and despairing desire on them, and can only wonder what the windows to your soul are currently revealing to her. You feel miniscule beads of perspiration forming on the sides of your hands, on your upper lip, your chest, your lower back.