Francesca’s Mother – an erotic story

I couldn’t help but stare.

She was perfection in her black bikini, standing in front of me in line for the waterslide. From her heels to her calves, all the way up the back of her thighs to the dip and crease of her buttocks, her legs were flawless. Olive, hair free skin had me mesmerized. I was now glad of the long queue which previously had me shivering. With all the self-assurance of a foreign exchange student, she gracefully lifted her ponytail and tied it in a knot. I swallowed hard as I caught a glimpse of thick dark hair curling under her arms. My heart leapt and I was instantly thrown back to my youth.

Francesca’s mother was my guilty pleasure. I would stay for long weekends at their house and spend the whole time preoccupied by the huge maternal presence that commanded the family home with gentle force. I would find any excuse to go into the kitchen and watch her knead dough on the antique pine table, her braless breasts swinging and gently slapping together beneath a purple smock dress. She was so mighty and strong and, though I couldn’t name it at the time, sensual.

When she moved near me I’d inhale her scent. Underneath the rosemary and garlic, there was something else; something musky and dangerous. It at once attracted and repelled me, but I always filled my lungs with the delicious warmth, seeking that hidden perfume.

“Look at this,” Francesca pulled me into her mother’s bedroom one trip home from college. We sprawled on the bed reading Anais Nin and Nancy Friday books until we could gasp and giggle no more. I read the words, becoming more and more physically turned on. I’d had a few ferociously passionate encounters at college and was no stranger to sex, but I sensed these books were exploring something else too. Something more than the physical. They made me want to be with the mighty woman downstairs.

“I’m just going for a drink,” I told Francesca and rolled off the bed, taking care
not to show the damp spot forming in my jeans.

When I got to the kitchen, Francesca’s mother was standing over a huge pot of broth on the stove. Thick meaty smells filled the room, and as she lifted her elbow to stir the great vat, a tuft of glossy black curls sprang into view. I was slightly repulsed but my mouth started watering and warmth and moisture spread between my legs. I sat on a stool and pressed my hands onto my mound, rocking my pelvis into my fists while Francesca’s mother stirred the soup. I came in my jeans just as she tapped the drips off the ladle on the side of the pot.

The atmosphere was charged and I was sure I caught her eyes flit across my tiny hard nipples while she swept away wild peppery hair from her brow with her forearm. I lifted my ribcage and stared at her, daring her to look again, but she didn’t. She turned back to the range and opened the oven door. Steam and the odour of fresh baked bread broke the spell and I hopped off the stool and sped back up to Francesca, at once invigorated and ashamed.

And now, at the swimming pool of all places, these feelings had returned. The queue
bustled into me and I stumbled slightly into the back of the poised beauty in front. She looked haughtily round and I licked my lips involuntarily at the sight of hers. Full and raw with a dusting of fine hairs on her upper lip. Suddenly I was consumed with want for this woman. I could have grabbed her there and then. I could feel my nipples peaking as she looked at me straight in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “It’s the people behind, they keep pushing.”

She slowly and languidly looked down the full length of me then turned back as the
attendant signalled her to go on the slide. She grabbed the bar at the top of the entrance and flung herself into the water filled tube. My desire began to subside and I gave myself a mental shake. What was I up to?

The attendant gave me the nod and I pushed myself as hard as I could into the tunnel. I was drenched and gathered up by the flow, sliding up and down the sides of the huge tube. It was exhilarating and my lustful agitation was just easing when I collided hard into a figure jammed spread-eagled against the sides of the slide.

“What the…” I started as the woman from the queue fell heavily onto me thrusting a hand over my mouth.

“I saw the look in your eyes,” her distinct voice hissed in my ear and my want
came flooding back. As we writhed and twisted gathering speed, she removed her hand and kissed me hard, forcing my mouth open with her powerful sharp little tongue. It was thrilling and I reached round and grabbed her ass through her bikini bottoms. She countered by shoving her hand in between my legs and pulled my swimsuit to the side, delving fingers inside my soaked sex. I splayed my legs open and tried to slow us down by grabbing the tube walls. She slammed her pelvis into the gap and ground her hand deeper into my pussy with the force of her mound. It felt so horny and I grabbed at her tits craning my head up and under her arm to catch another glimpse of the beautiful curls. She obliged, lifting her arm, allowing me to bury my nose into the fragrant nook. There it was. Sensual, dangerous, horny – that smell. I wallowed in it as she kneaded my clit with her thumb. I jerked and rocked as the stars that always signalled my climax swirled in my peripheral vision. My pussy began to well and she started pumping her fingers into me violently as the water gushed around us and flowed over her chest, pulling down her bikini top so that her ripe dark nipples were just a lick away. As I started coming, I engulfed one of her breasts with my hungry mouth and suckled her throbbing tit, tonguing the puckered flesh of her nipple trying to take it all in. She grabbed my pussy from the inside and out, gripping my clit and g-spot together. I came, twitching and panting and gushing all over her sexy little hands. I wanted my turn, I wanted to fuck her with my fingers, my tongue, but she climbed off me, and slid away while tying her bikini back up. The slide ended abruptly and I splashed out into a deep cool pool. I swam to the surface, staring all around for my tunnel lover, but I couldn’t see her anywhere.

Later, I searched though my college things and found the books I’d quietly stolen from Francesca’s mother. I spent the rest of the afternoon sprawled across my bed understanding all the things I’d missed those years before.

If you like my erotic style, and would like to read more, please take a look around my site or at my Amazon author page US – Amazon author page UK where you’ll find an up to date list of all my work for sale. My writing celebrates all kinds of physical and spiritual love between all sorts of lovely ladies and gentlemen. I particularly recommend Mia’s Books and A Clockwork Butterfly from Beachwalk Press. Hope you enjoy. Thanks for stopping by and reading all the way to the end! Tabitha x x

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