Sensitive and caring

OLD RULES

The dress code requires female employees to be topless at all times.

It's common place for siblings to grow up sharing a bedroom.

The expression 'Boys will be boys' refers to the casual acceptance of the fact that teenaged men and young adult males have the uncontrollable urge to touch and grope the bodies of girls they find attractive.

NEW RULES

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 can feel your mother's body reacting to you, but you play it slow and patient. After all, unless you actually let go of her and take a break to write some new bullshit rule, this is all about you and your uninhibited mother, not that magic Rulebook. You push against her, your bulge slipping between her thighs as she playfully rocks back against you. Sure, this wouldn't remotely happen without the Rulebook, but the rules at play here are about permitting things to happen, you tell yourself. This is genuine. Really, it's kind of more genuine than anything that might happen otherwise, you try to convince yourself as you dry-hump your giggling mother harder and harder.

"M-Mic ... Michael!" she stammers between giggling laughs and jostling from you pressing against her backside. "I do have things to get done, you know. Don't you? I mean, have you ... worked things out?" Suddenly she pushes back against you to get enough space to twist around and face you. Your hands drift around her waist, gliding across her back and abdomen until they settle on her hips once again. She smiles and bites her lip as she raises her eyebrows. Fuck, was mother always this much of a hot tease?! You can't be sure.

"What?" you say. Oh-so-eloquently. "Oh, you mean ... have I ... No, no mom. I mean, you're hot, the hottest woman I know, and I'm ... I'm not going to just get over it."

"Really?" she says, blushing a deep crimson on her cheeks, her breathing is shallow and fast. "I'm not that beautiful, am I?"

"Fuck, are you kidding?" you blurt in horny exasperation, your hands rubbing her hips absently in your distraction.

"Language Michael!" she scolds reflexively, giving you a dirty look that slowly melts to playfulness. "Really?" she smiles and tweaks her nose at you.

"Yes, really," you say with a sigh, stepping forwards between her legs as they dangle over the side of the bed, your hips spreading her thighs ever so slightly. "Hotter than any of the girls in my school. Smarter, classier, more confident in yourself." Well, most days you are, you think. "And yeah, just a little bit crazy to be so self-conscious about your body," you add, as your hands shift down to caress her thighs. "You wanted to run off these thighs? Nuts. And you wanted to do yoga to work on your core? For what? You'd work off this wonderful ass or those perfect breasts?" You swallow as you consider those breasts. It takes a moment for the dry-mouth to subside and then you add, "I should have you committed." You lean over your mother, sliding your hands back to her waist, then up her sides, pushing her modest dark blouse up a bit until your hands caress the hefty curve of her under-bust.

"Michael!" Heather gasps softly, biting her lip and staring at you with red, teary eyes.

"Want me to stop?" you ask, and fuck all if you don't mean it. "Or want me to show you that I mean it? Just because Dad ignores you doesn't mean you aren't mind-fuckingly sexy."

"Language, Michael," she says again, although this time her tone is softer and more subdued.

She doesn't ask you to stop, so you pull open her blouse, dainty little buttons popping free. Heather gasps and shudders, but as you reveal her rack she giggles nervously at the expression you make, your affection and attraction unmistakable and undeniable. She's wearing a cream-colored support bra, which objectively is not the sexiest piece of underwear, but damn if the way her heavy, pale, and lightly-freckled tits fill it up doesn't give you the erection of a lifetime.

Your hands are trembling as you rest them on the heavenly swell of her tits, full and heavy and soft. God! you didn't realize you'd wanted to do this before, but now that the little Rulebook is making it possible you feel a sudden suggestion that you've been pining for you mother for years. But even so, you look at your mother's eyes and wait for a bit of eye contact to assure you she's into this.

Your mother is leaned back, almost casually, letting you run your hands over her half-exposed breasts and breathing in shallow but calm breaths. You press your palms against the soft microfiber of her bra, twisting your hands so your fingers slide under her cups. Her eyes flutter and bat, and Heather inhales softly. "Michael!"

The soft, airy exclamation is not a rebuke, so it might as well be an invitation. You lean forward and press yourself against her, kissing her for the thousandth time--but also the first. For never before have you and your mother been kissing like this: your hands on her breasts, lips pressed against hers, her hand feeling the hot firmness in your pants. Her eyes close as she kisses you back, her soft lips candied by her deep red lipstick. Your lips part and a sigh passes between you before her tongue teases over your lips and into your mouth. Her hand runs over your bulging erection and you feel a renewed throb of passion drop into your cock as you suddenly realize that your first time just might be with your own mother.