The lingering warmth of maternal love

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The sound of running water came from the bathroom as I quickly tidied up my PS4 in the living room.
My plan to persuade my mom to play some of my favorite games had failed again; she's simply not good at challenging games. We started by practicing NBA 2K for a while, then played Call of Duty. Finally, we switched to Dynasty Warriors and Dead or Alive 5, which finally got her interested.
But for me, those two games were incredibly boring and unappealing. However, this was a chance for my mom and me to play the PS together, so I patiently kept her company in Dynasty Warriors. I
really miss the days when we played Diablo 3 together. It was a chance encounter, and I never expected my mom to be interested in this slightly scary game, even sitting down to play with me for the first time ever. We played for over half a year, until Diablo 3 just got boring.
Now, we can't find a single game that we can both enjoy playing together. I felt a little melancholy and went to the enclosed French windows at the edge of the living room to tidy up the clothes my mom had carelessly tossed aside before her shower.
This is one of her little quirks: before taking a shower, she likes to undress in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, facing the outside.
My mother isn't an exhibitionist; we live on the top floor of a river-view apartment in the Sky City complex. It's a 46-story duplex suite, with an endless view of the river and low-rise buildings on the opposite bank through the enclosed floor-to-ceiling windows, beyond which lie the hazy mountains. In this situation, there's no need to worry about anyone seeing my mother undressing outside the window, unless they're a superhuman who can levitate.
My mother prefers to wear loungewear at home and changes into her blazers when going out—she's particular about her appearance.
Therefore, next to the shoe cabinet in the entryway, there's a tall, built-in wardrobe exclusively for her.
I picked up my mother's purplish-pink lace-collar t-shirt and tights from the wooden floor in front of the window, carefully unfolded them, and hung them in this wardrobe.
While I was at it, I tidied up this special wardrobe for my mother, smelling each item to find the ones she wore most often.
After sifting around for a while, I grabbed the two T-shirts that I thought smelled the strongest, which were my mother's, and tossed them into the laundry basket in the bathroom.
Our bathroom has a separate shower and toilet area, so just as I was about to do laundry, my mother opened the bathroom door to come out.
She was startled to see me in the toilet, immediately covering her chest with a towel and grumbling at me. So I had no choice but to abandon my laundry plans and obediently return to the living room.
A while later, my mother came out of the toilet. Her previously wet hair was now dry and styled, her face was made up, and she wore earrings. Even her elegant gold-trimmed blouse was on; the champagne-colored satin blouse was incredibly soft and form-fitting, and a quick glance revealed the shape of her full bra beneath.
Aside from that, she wore nothing else.
The shirt was long enough to cover half of her bottom. When Mom walked confidently towards the entryway, she was facing me. For some reason, I deliberately looked away, as if to avoid seeing something I shouldn't.
Of course, I wasn't worried about Mom being stared at while wearing such a close-fitting, thin shirt. She calmly walked to the shoe cabinet, opened the wardrobe, and took out her blazer, putting it on.
Then she took out a pair of underwear from a small drawer, thought for a moment, and hung them on the hook inside the wardrobe door. She
then picked up a matching skirt, and simultaneously straightened up to wave at me: "What are you standing there for? Come here!"
I said "Oh," and walked over leisurely, leaning against the shoe cabinet, timidly looking up at her.
Seeing me dawdling, Mom couldn't help but become a little impatient and said, "You said you'd kiss me if I got into the top 10, if you're not coming, I'm leaving!" Her usually serious face broke into a chuckle after she finished speaking.
After all, even she herself found it funny to be so shameless when she mentioned kissing.
I started to feel nervous. Would Mom really let me kiss her? Was she just playing a trick on me? It would be too embarrassing if I acted too eager and ended up being tricked by Mom.
So I straightened my slightly trembling legs, raised my face, and avoided looking her in the eye.
Suddenly, I remembered something and said, "Wait a minute, you're not dressed yet."
Mom shook the skirt in her hand and said, "Won't it be inconvenient to wear it?"
I got excited because of the award for being in the top 10 of the design exam, and said crisply, "Shoes and skirt should be on, right?"
Mom frowned and said, "Why are you so particular?"
I insisted, "Mom will look much better in high heels!"
Mom tilted her head and thought for a moment, then picked up the skirt and started putting it on from her feet, saying, "Okay, okay, you're so fussy."
Mom was so close to me, and the feminine fragrance wafting from her neckline as she bent down to put on her shoes hit me. I took a step back, feeling a little flustered.
Mom put on her five-centimeter stiletto sandals, straightened up, and swept her long, straight hair behind her. Her chatter, so incongruous with her quiet, gentle face, continued: "You're so demanding! Why wear shoes? You'll just have to take them off later."
She took a step forward, looked down at me, and said, "Hurry up! It's almost 10 o'clock. I still have to go to work and buy groceries."
I glanced up at her, blushed, and lowered my head in embarrassment.
Mom pulled my arm firmly against the closed wardrobe and said, "Here or on the sofa?"
My
heart pounded, and I whispered, "Here."
Mom pulled in her stomach and adjusted the height of her skirt, saying, "Will I be unable to see?"
I squeezed past her and pressed the switch for the entryway light. Suddenly, the small area became very bright, which only made me more nervous. I wondered if it would feel like this if I were dating a female classmate and the lights suddenly blazed on before our first kiss in a dark movie theater?
After pressing the button, I turned around and stood facing my mother. My nervousness was evident from my hesitation, so this time my mother didn't urge or scold me.
She took a step forward, closing the distance between us as much as possible. We were so close that I could hear her soft whispers clearly. She said, "Are you getting shy now?"
My ears turned red, and I lowered my head, not daring to look at her. I said, "It's different!"
I breathed heavily for a while, then calmed down and said, "I'm fine."
My mother looked down at me with a half-smile and said, "Then why are you still standing here? Can you even reach me from this height?"
I said "Oh," squatted down, and looked up at my mother. She understood and took another step forward.
Her voice came from above me: "Do you want to get a low stool? It seems tiring to squat like this?"
I felt the height, half-kneeled, and held onto my mother's thigh, saying, "This is fine."
Suddenly, Mom pointed to the shoe cabinet as if she remembered something and said, "Mouthwash!"
I exclaimed in realization, "Oh!" and took out a bottle of strong antibacterial mouthwash hidden deep inside the shoe cabinet. I poured it into my mouth, gargled vigorously, and then spat it into the trash can next to the shoe cabinet.
Even though I had just brushed my teeth, I still rinsed my mouth very carefully this time. Cleaning our mouths for each other's health is a basic courtesy between men and women.
Mom also took her small leather bag from the wall hook, took out a tissue and handed it to me to wipe my mouth, then fastened the bag and slung it over her right shoulder. To avoid disturbing me, she thoughtfully shifted the bag behind her.
I knelt on the entryway carpet, ready, and approached my mother.
Her breathing seemed to quicken, and she shifted her weight nervously.
I reached out and supported one of her thighs, placing the other on her pleated skirt.
Her voice came from above: "You do it, or... should I do it?"
I whispered, "Okay," and released her skirt.
She spread her legs, straightened them, leaned slightly forward, and gently lifted her pleated skirt from both sides.
As she slowly pulled the skirt higher, more and more of her thighs became visible.
While lifting the skirt, I noticed the muscles on the inside of her thighs trembling slightly. Despite her confident and mature demeanor, she must have been a little nervous.
The pleated skirt rose slowly like a theatrical curtain, and the long-awaited drama began.
Luckily, the lights were on, otherwise my vision would be completely blurred.
Otherwise, with Mom's urging of "Hurry up!" and without the help of overhead lighting, I might not have been able to gently find the right spot.
Contrary to my initial plan, I decided on the spot to use the gentlest licking technique.
This is the least likely to arouse a woman; the warm tongue should extend as far as possible, licking diagonally upwards.
...Embarrassingly, even with this low-lick-high posture, I failed to accurately lick my target three or four times.
Each time my head approached, Mom tensed up; I noticed her thigh muscles tightened with each touch.
Several unsuccessful attempts made me a little impatient, so I disregarded politeness and reached forward to embrace Mom's thighs, my hands controlling her bare waist and hips.
I didn't use my hands to grope her buttocks, but merely to locate them, making it easier for my tongue to hit the target.
Finally, this time I licked a similarly warm and moist spot, tasting a slightly salty, faintly fermented flavor.
This wasn't the first time I'd experienced this, but experiencing it in this impromptu "goodbye kiss" before leaving home had a unique flavor.
I didn't try to be the best; after tasting it, I withdrew a few centimeters, calmed my rapid breathing, and once my breath had settled, I probed under my mother's skirt again.
This time, she refrained from making a sound.
My licking lasted less than a minute, quickly ending with a sucking motion, because I felt I had too much saliva and was afraid of making a mess.
My mother rummaged through her purse and pulled out feminine hygiene wipes, then knelt beside me and gently wiped her skirt. While wiping, she teased me about how much saliva I had and how dirty it was… I sat on the carpet with a satisfied, limp feeling, until my mother reminded me to reluctantly take out mouthwash and rinse my mouth again.
My mother opened the wardrobe, took out her panties from the hook, took off her high heels, put on the panties, then put her high heels back on, said goodbye, and left.
I sat on the sofa, my mind blank, holding my phone, lost in thought, reliving the experience for a long time.
Thankfully, I'd already released something last night, otherwise I probably would have exploded and died.
[The End]

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The lingering warmth of maternal love

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