I picked up my wine and went to the fire.The figure on the rug gave no indication of being aware I was in theroom. A glass of wine sat on the floor. Black stockings glimmered belowthe hem of a short black velvet dress, long blond hair shimmering againstthat same blackness.I squatted down and carefully laid the gift on the floor to be openedcareful not to spill either of the glasses of wine. While the ribbon wasbeing untied I began sliding my fingers up the thigh covered in the silk.By the time the top of the box was coming off my fingers were well underthe dress on the bare skin above the stocking tracing the garter everhigher.I heard a gasp as the contents of the box were given a thoroughexamination. Now I wanted another gasp as I traced the lace panty andfelt the hardness within it. Not a gasp but a groan, just as good.I felt a hand slipping under my skirt and up between my thighs. He wouldsoon know how excited I really was. I felt like I was practicallydripping.I moved and got. She did not get angry. She loved me still, even after I told her while crying in shame. She hugged me and told me it changed nothing. I was still her daughter. Being gay made little difference.No one stirred my lusts like my mother. Whenever she wore anything that enhanced her already enticing figure I grew so wet. I wanted her, all of her. I wanted to kiss her sweet lips. I wanted to squeeze, hold, kiss and suck her delightful breasts. I wanted to fondle and grope all over her sleek butt, and I wished so deeply to taste her most secret treasure. Many a night I fell asleep dreaming of such intimate and sensual encounters with her. Every morning I woke up from such dreams was torture. A constant reminder of my unending and never to be fulfilled desire.It was my life goal to run my hands through her sensuous locks. To look her lovingly in her blue eyes. To smell her wonderful fragrances. To rub her back and make her feel like no other could. Oh mother, why must you tempt me so? If.
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