FOR MOM'S COMFORT 1

I'm now 20 and have a really unorthodox sex life, which I believe many of you would envy. I'll explain how it all began almost two years ago.

Iqbaal is my name, and I am an Indian. I live with my parents as an only child. My mother Zeenat is 48 years old, and my father Aman is 50 years old. My mother is a stay-at-home mom, while my father is a government employee. We have a wonderful apartment in kolkata.

We are not wealthy, but my father's income is plenty, and we live comfortably. My mother was 5'4 at the time this story began, and she was a full-figured lady with enormous boobs and a round full bottom, but she wasn't overweight and still had a waist and curves. She donned western clothes on occasion, although she preferred to dress in a sari most of the time.

My father stood 6'2" and was a little overweight, but he wasn't bad-looking for his age. I've always thought of him as a serious person. He was in charge of a local government department, and he always acted significant and authoritatively. My feelings toward him (and my mother) would eventually shift, but more on that later.

Finally, a few words about myself at the opening of the story. I'd recently turned 18 and was still rather ignorant about the ways of the world. I'd lived a rather sheltered life and was completely oblivious to sex, but I did have a few magazines with scantily clad ladies who weren't completely naked. It was difficult to obtain highly graphic material unless you ventured into some of kolkata's rougher areas, and as I previously stated, I was quite naive and shy at the time, and would never have considered doing so.

I had a passing interest in one or two girls at my school, but never had the bravery to approach them. That was pretty much all I had to say about my sexual experiences. Of course, I masturbated, often fantasising about a sexy-looking girl I'd seen on TV or in one of my magazines or choti books. Some of the boys I hung out with at school told me stories about girls, and of course, I already knew how things should work. and all the different terms that people used, but the majority of it was theory!

Everything was about to change!

I was seated on the floor in the living room, my back against the sofa, watching TV about a month after I turned eighteen. Mom was lying on the sofa, her head propped on a cushion on one end and her feet propped up against my head on the other.

Dad was sitting in an armchair a few feet away, his head buried in a newspaper, his preferred 'occupation.'

"Iqbaal," my mother said. "Please massage my feet for me because they are sore from shopping this afternoon."

"Sure, mom," I said. She raised her sari a little above her ankles as I turned to face the sofa. I caressed her feet, not thinking too hard about it and keeping one eye on the TV. My hands were getting a little fatigued after about 12 minutes, so I asked if I might quit.

"Sure, thanks, son," I say, "that's a lot better." she remarked

Mom asked me to massage her feet again after a few days. Dad was back in the room, reading his newspaper as usual. "That's right son, make sure your mother is comfortable," he replied this time, looking up. Mom lifted her sari and underpetticoat a little higher than previously, this time to her calves.

"Please, sweetie, rub my ankles and calves as well," she requested. I began caressing her feet, then her ankles, and finally her calves. For the first time, I was struck by how smooth her lightly tanned skin and the visible portion of her calf were. My mother appeared to shave her legs and maintain their attractiveness because there were no visible hairs. I began to appreciate the sensation of caressing her leg muscles and feeling her smooth skin after a few minutes. For the first time, I believe I saw her as a woman rather than my mother.

Mom suggested to come to a halt after approximately 20 minutes and thanked me again for making her feel "much better." For a couple of weeks, I rubbed my feet and ankles every other day or so. In fact, I began to anticipate doing it in the evenings. It felt good to touch a woman's skin, even if it was my mother's. And I think it was during those first few weeks that I began to see her in a different light. In a sexual way, I began to think about her body more.

I was embarrassed at first, but as time passed, I became accustomed to it. Maybe all sons, I reasoned, go through this phase of thinking about their mothers.

The weather had begun to warm up, signalling the start of the summer months, which meant a change of attire for my mother. Instead of a sari, she would wear light ankle-length cotton skirts with a top in the summer. So, three weeks after she originally requested a foot massage, mom was back on the sofa, this time dressed in a light cotton skirt and blouse. My father was sitting in his customary armchair, burying his head in the newspaper.

We (at least my mother and I) were glued to the screen. I was expecting Mom to ask me to do her feet, and she didn't disappoint.

"Iqbaal, please do my feet now," she requested, her head resting on a high cushion at one end of the sofa.

"Sure, mom," I said, eager to get started. I was massaging her for the first time when she was dressed in a skirt. She unexpectedly raised her skirt just above the tops of her knees, exposing the lower half of her legs for the first time.

"Do my legs up to my knees as well," she added casually as she relaxed her eyes closed.

I was a little giddy. Now, it may not appear to be much to be excited about, but keep in mind that when it came to girls and women, I was a complete novice, and seeing the quantity of flesh in front of me, which I'd never seen before in one go, piqued my interest.

I started with the tops of the calves and under the knees this time, rubbing both front and back silkily. I was savouring the sensation, and I knew mum was as well.

"That's very good," she murmured at one time, her eyes still closed.

At one point, I took a glance in Dad's way and noticed that he was staring at me. I nearly felt bad for appearing to be having a good time.

To my amazement, he said, "That's right son, give your mum a lovely leg massage," and then buried his head in the newspaper again.

I felt relieved after that. I was having a great time massaging my mother's legs after being asked to do so by her and seeing how much she enjoyed it, and my father was encouraging me to keep up the good work. Hey, everything went swimmingly!

Later that evening, as I lay in bed before going to sleep, I couldn't stop thinking about my mother naked. And it felt fantastic.

Mom didn't ask me to massage her legs for a couple of days this time. I did notice, though, that she was sporting some new skirts. You might wonder how I knew they were new. I couldn't take my gaze away from her back and legs since the last massage. And I was sure the skirts she was wearing were new because the material seemed more sheer and thinner, and I was sure I could see through the material briefly when she stood on the balcony with the bright sun behind her, and see the contour of her upper legs and butt.

I was confident she'd want me to massage her again on the third evening after the last massage, since she'd never gone more than a couple of days without it. I took the initiative and asked, casually, "would you like me to massage your legs tonight mom?" as she was in the kitchen preparing supper.

She said, "Yes, it would be lovely." "When your father gets home after supper," she said, not looking at me.

With a hard on, I went back to my room and wanked myself off thinking about it.

We all settled into our normal positions in the living room after dinner: mom on the couch, dad in his armchair reading the newspaper, and me on the floor, resting up against the sofa with my head a few inches from mom's feet.

After a few minutes, mum asked, "Please do my feet now Iqbaal."

Dad spoke up as I cautiously turned around. "Make certain you do an excellent job, Iqbaal."

"Yes, sir," I said.

Mom's skirt had been raised to just over her knees once more. I had an idea all of a sudden. "Would you like me to rub them with some beautiful fragrant talc?" I stated.

Mom smiled and added, "That sounds like a fantastic idea."

I dashed to the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of talc in double fast speed.

I sat down next to the sofa on the floor and began rubbing mom's legs with talc on each. Sliding my hands up and down was a wonderfully smooth and sensual experience thanks to the talc. I'd start at the tops of her toes and work my way up to her knees with both hands, one on each leg. Then I'd run my hands down the backs of her calves and down the backs of her calves, feeling the nice silky flesh there. This went on for a few minutes.

Mom had closed her eyes and her face and body were utterly relaxed. She appeared to be having a good time. I cast a glance at my father, who was still immersed in his newspaper.

After a brief period of consideration, I decided to test if I could get a little over her knees without altering her skirt. I began at her toes and slowly slid my hand up the front of her legs, but instead of stopping at the knees, I slowed as I approached them and put my hands beneath the material of her skirt and up a little over the front part of her thighs.

I stared at her face while I did so, and she didn't respond with a smile, but she did open her legs a little wider. I did it a couple more times, just over her skirt's hem line, but not too much - about halfway up her thighs. I didn't dare to go any further!

After about 20 minutes, Mom smiled at me and opened her eyes. "Iqbaal, you're free to leave now. That was just nice. Thank you very much. You have a wonderful sense of touch with your hands. You truly make your elderly mother feel better."

"Aw, that's fine, mom," I said. "I enjoy giving you a massage, and you're not that elderly; you appear to be in good health for your age."

She said, "Thank you, son." "You know, my back aches from time to time, and it would be great if you could rub that for me as well." But sitting on the floor must be quite painful for you; you won't be able to massage it properly."

She shifted her gaze to her father. "Aman, how much is one of those foldable massage tables you saw at the shop the other day?"

As she spoke, I thought to myself, 'Massage table.' 'The ones we saw,' -. My parents appeared to be taking this seriously, as they had already viewed and purchased a genuine massage table. I remained silent, unsure of what was going on.

"Oh, they weren't that expensive," Dad explained, "do you want one?"

"Well, if it's okay with Iqbaal, because we'll only get it if he agrees to give me a full back and leg massage." She gave me a sidelong glance.

My mind raced, and I responded, "Of course," without even thinking about it.

"In case you're wondering, Iqbaal, we saw one the other day because your mother believed you were so wonderful at easing her leg issues, that you could help her with her back as well," Dad said. You know how stiff she gets in there at times, and you'll be a huge help to her."

"Sure, dad - no worries - it folds up, right?"

Mom said, "Oh yes." "It looked great in the store." They demonstrated how it works and how it can be stored beneath our bed when not in use."

"All OK," I said. "Let's place an order for one."

My mind was working overtime that night in bed. I was already working up an appetite doing mom's legs, but it appeared that I would be touching a lot more of her now. Wow! I wanked myself to sleep thinking about it once more.

The massage table arrived a few days later. With two folding pieces and supporting legs, it was quite tidy. The top, however, just had a tiny cushion, and I wondered if it would be difficult for mom to lie on. Let's just see how it goes, I reasoned.

That evening, after supper, Dad and I set up the table in front of the sofa in the living room. Mom sat face down on it, barefoot but still dressed in a blouse and skirt. I could see her body shape a little better now, and I could actually move around her. Dad sat back in his armchair and watched for a while this time.

"Mom, where would you like me to begin?" I stated.

"Well, I'll start with my back," she said. You can massage me from my shoulders down to the base of my back through my blouse. Then you can take care of my legs. When you get to my legs, I'll let you pull up my skirt since I'd prefer to feel your hands on them rather than over my skirt."

Slowly, I began to encircle Mom's shoulders with my hands. Her blouse's fabric was silky soft, and I could feel her flesh ripple as my hands stroked her. I turned to face my father, who had returned to reading his newspaper.

As I continued to touch, I gently lowered my hands down to the centre of her back in swirling circular strokes. I allowed my gaze travel down to her butt because mom couldn't see me and dad pretended to be absorbed in his paper. I couldn't see the shape of it because the skirt was flat and didn't reveal the line of her butt very clearly, as I got an impression. It appeared to be rather huge, and her buttocks' cheeks were still lifted, giving her a wonderful curvy shape that ran from the base of her spine to the tops of her thighs. In my jeans, I felt my dick rise.

I lowered my hands down to the base of her spine and couldn't stop myself from lightly touching the tops of her butt cheeks with the tips of my fingers. She didn't raise an objection.

I didn't want to overdo it the first time I was on the table, so I moved backwards and began massaging her shoulders again. I climbed to the top of the table and stood with my crotch against the back of mom's head. Despite the fact that I had a boner, she was face down, her forehead resting on her crossed arms. As a result, she couldn't see it.

From this posture, I massaged the top of her shoulder and down to the centre of her back as far as I could reach. A thought rushed into my mind. My dick was out, rock hard, and I was shafting it back and forth in mom's mouth while massaging her. My dick grew even harder at the thought, and I decided to return to the table's side. I guess I had a small amount of sweat on my brow.

Despite the fact that my cock was pressed against my jeans, the height of the table ensured that my crotch was hidden behind the table top. I ran my hands down her back to her spine, then down to the top of her generous butt cheeks, being careful not to go too far. This time, I applied a little more pressure to the tips of my fingers and felt the sufficient padding there.

My dick retaliated this time by stretching the front of my jeans. I had to go to the bathroom.

Fortunately, I'd forgotten about the talc for her legs and told her I'd be back in a minute. I was on the verge of sprinting to the restroom. I hurriedly unzipped my jeans and shut the door behind me. My cock sprang, and I began caressing it. I slid over to the bath's edge so my cum wouldn't end up on the floor, and I began wanking, fantasising about feeling up Mom's arse.

I arrived in a flash, dumping what looked like a tonne of cum into the tub. The force was so great that I even smacked some of the tiles on the rear wall with cum.

I thought to myself, "Fuck, I needed that," as the pressure was relieved.

As I exited the bathroom, I cleaned up, washed my hands, and grabbed the talc. I hoped I hadn't been gone for too long.

Mom turned her head and murmured, "You took a long time," as I returned to the living room with the talc.

"I had to go the restroom," I explained.

"Oh," she said, laying her head back down in the same position as before.

"Please take care of my legs right now. You can also elevate my skirt above my knees."

Her skirt slid up when she elevated her legs a little.

I set the talc container on the table and carefully peeled back mom's skirt, revealing more and more of her lower legs. I decided to lift it higher than I had before in order to reveal more of her thighs, so instead of stopping just above the knees, I folded the upper section of the skirt so that almost half of her thighs were visible. She didn't raise her voice in protest.

The folded skirt fabric now rested over her butt, effectively disguising it with a double layer of material, which was the main downside for me.

Looking at her legs, I thought to myself, "Never mind." They were more exposed than I'd ever seen them before, and that was the price of admission. I began massaging them from the ankles and worked my way up in circular motions.

When I got to the back of her knees, I decided to take a chance and go a little higher, up to the lower portion of her thighs. Slowly, I slipped my hands up over the fleshy region of the back of her lower thighs and slid them beneath the folded edge of the skirt. Due to the fold in her skirt, I couldn't see where her buttocks began, so my fingers went a little too far and I felt the lower part of her underwear.

I soon realised my mistake and swiftly lowered my hands, but not before she whispered out loud, "that feels wonderful Iqbaal."

I was taken aback by her reaction. I'd just stroked up the lower part of her well-formed ass cheeks, albeit through her pants, and rather than chastise me, she seemed to like it! As you could expect, my cock reacted by pressing itself against the fly of my jeans.

I glanced over at my father, who was still reading his newspaper. He jerked his head up.

He said, "Make sure you do a good job son."

Mom chimed in, "Iqbaal is fine." "I'll work on the tops of my thighs a little more," she said.

"Do what your mother says," Dad said.

"Yes, sir," I said.

I slipped my hands around the base of mom's back thighs, just above the knee, and gently slid them up, squeezing hard. When I reached to the edge of her underwear, I slipped my hands further up, under the fold of her skirt, and let my fingers feel the bottom half of her butt cheeks through the fabric, as she appeared to want me to touch the tops of her thighs. I realised what a massive and ample ass she must have when I pinched the flesh of her butt cheeks where my fingers met them through the pantyhose fabric.

I continued rubbing up and down like this for the next several minutes or so, being cautious not to go too high over her ass, but stopped when I felt the material of her underwear, as I had done before.

Mom would occasionally say an appreciative comment, which I noted most often when my palm reached the lower half of her ass cheeks, which I was quite enjoying feeling. I began to feel more confident and pondered if I should move up even higher over her butt cheeks, thoroughly feeling each ass cheek.

At this point, I was quite turned on and felt the desire to cum once more. As we drew closer to the end of the massage, I realised we'd definitely be stopping soon, so I decided to try my luck.

I started just above the backs of her knees and slowly worked my way up, softly gripping and caressing the flesh of her thighs. I proceeded upwards by slipping my hand under Mom's skirt. I'd be at the panty line in no time. Instead of pulling my hands back down when I felt it, I allowed them wander up over the pantyhose fabric and over the full mounds of her ass cheeks, one in each palm.

The sensation was fantastic, and I pressed hard enough in each palm to get a full handful of thick, luscious flesh. To avoid being too conspicuous, I didn't circle my hands around, and then quickly moved both hands down to the thighs.

Before my hands completely left her ass cheeks, mum remarked, "Ooh, that's lovely."

I swallowed, unsure what to make of the comment, but answered, "I'm glad you're enjoying the massage mum," in a tentative tone.

"Thank you, son," she responded, "I believe that's all I have for today."

to be continued..............