Professional, at first

Grabbing one of the smaller pillows, your mom lifts up your head and slides the pillow in place before gently lowering you onto it. You are left lying there on your stomach, facing your left, as Jane steps out into the hallway. You can hear her rummaging around in the closet for a moment before returning. You watch as she sets a clear plastic bottle on the dresser before crossing to the other side of the room out of your field of view and then back again a moment later.

Her back turned towards you, you watch as she locates the small hidden zipper along the side of her dress. You listen to the faint high-pitched sound as the zipper traverses the hundreds of tiny metal teeth, the crimson fabric peeling away from her body as the zipper descends. Your eyes trace across her skin as it comes into view inch by inch, her strong shoulders, her muscular upper back, narrow waist, the way the muscles of her upper thighs accentuate her tight butt, still covered by dark red panties which match her strapless bra.

You quickly try to turn your thoughts to something else as she dons a baggy white t-shirt which reaches down nearly to the tops of her thighs. Taking the plastic bottle in hand, she climbs up onto the bed, straddling you before flipping you over suddenly and unbuttoning your dress. Your little black dress is tugged down your torso, onto your legs, and finally off. She takes a moment to fold the dress and set it on the dresser before returning to the bed.

Flipping you back onto your stomach Jane takes a seat on your thighs and begins to rub her hands together before applying some of the liquid from the bottle into one palm.

"Veronica used to ask me for massages all the time. Her back was always hurting because of her boobs," says your mother, apparently unashamed of discussing the effects of her previous lover and partner's cup size with you. Without asking for your permission, she unclasps your bra and tosses it aside, leaving you with only your panties to protect your modesty. Truth be told, your panties did not cover all that much, and in a way you felt as if you were truly being put on display.

"That reminds me, I should put on my massage music." Jane fiddles with the portable speaker that sits on the bedside table and in a moment some music begins playing softly. You weren't well versed in music from before your birth, but the playlist seemed to contain instrumental versions of selected 80's rock songs.

She begins up at your shoulders, at first moving her hands across your fair and freckled skin with minimal pressure, a sheen of massage oil following her every movement. Soon she begins to ramp up the pressure. She switches from using the palm of each hand to using two fingers to apply greater pressure. She switches things up again, now moving her thumbs in small circles, working the various muscles of your shoulders and neck one by one. At times her intense efforts **** you to emit a few quiet groans or moans despite yourself.

After a few minutes she relents and drizzles a line of oil down your spin, stopping just above the waist of your panties. Slightly cool at first, the oil rapidly warms as she works it across your back from top to bottom, stroking both hands up and down with her thumbs pointed inwards, meting each other at your spine. Next she moves outwards, working with the heels of her hands, her fingers facing outwards, wrapping around your sides. As she works back up towards your shoulders, her finger tips graze against the sides of your breasts, and she makes no particular effort to avoid this.

Once your back has been fully worked over, and you lulled into a half-conscious state, she moves down to your feet, massaging each one in her turn with both hands, gradually moving from your toes up to your ankles and then to your calves. Between the ****, your mother's skillful massage, and the late your, you find yourself gradually being lulled into sleep, your eyelids gradually closing. You daydream for a few moments about college and about cute girls before your mind goes blank.

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Focused entirely on giving an excellent massage, Jane makes no notice of whether you were awake or asleep. All of her experience as a masseuse came from her weekly massage date with Veronica, who herself was also in the habit of falling asleep mid-massage.

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As you gradually awaken, it takes you a moment to make sense of your surroundings. Most of your body is covered with massage oil, the wondrous scent of which fills the air. Your whole body is warm and relaxed, but one part of you is growing hotter and tenser by the second. A second later and your drunken mind recalls that you are in your mother's bed. You feel your mother's weight sitting on the backs of your knees. You feel her left gripping your bare butt cheek, squeezing and kneading the flesh. Her other hand wraps around your right thigh, you feel her thumb circling around the outside, and several fingers spreading out across the flesh in the opposite direction.

But that heat continues, growing inside you with great urgency. And it feels so good.

And that's when you feel her index finger on your clitoris, the side of her finger rubbing back and forth and back and forth, your fleshy pink clit being pulled to and fro by the friction of her skin like a palm tree swaying in strong wind.

In a second your mind goes from 0 to 100 miles an hour, from half asleep to "My mom's touching my clit!"

"What do I do?" you think, trying to decide on a plan of action quickly. "This is crazy. This is wrong. Why is she doing this?"

"But it feels so fucking good!"

A moment later and you let out a loud whimper, the decision of whether to say something apparently made for you. Jane suddenly snatches her hands away from you.