I seemed to have known Mrs Atkinson for ever. She was the mother of my best friend, Johnny, and she was almost like part of the furniture, she was so familiar. But when I got older and started to be aware of women and what they offered, I began to notice her and see her in a different way. I saw that she was still a good-looking woman. I started to appreciate her full breasts and her firm, sleek thighs (she often wore short skirts; I think she knew she had good legs). And she had a pretty face; I started to fantasise what it might be like to kiss her mouth. Of course I didn’t dare to make any approaches, For one thing, what would Johnny say if I made advances to his mother, of all people? And though I was aware of her sexually, she was still Mrs Atkinson, a fixture of my childhood.

One day, things changed. I went to call for Johnny and she opened the door, looking I thought, a little more glamorous than usual; perhaps she had done something to her hair. She seemed surprised to see me, and said that Johnny wasn’t expecting me and had gone out on an errand, and wouldn’t be back for an hour.

I was a bit confused and didn’t know what to do. It was a way from Johnny’s house to mine, and I didn’t want to go home and then have to return. So when she said I could come in if I wanted, I was happy to accept. She gave me sone coffee, and a piece of cake she had just baked, and we fell to chatting a bit. She asked me if I had a girlfriend. I blushed a little and said, no, not really. There were a couple of girls I knew who went round in our group, and I had fooled around with each of them once or twice. But I would never have called them my girlfriend. She asked if Johnny had one. I knew he had fooled around with the same two; in fact they had messed about with all the guys in our group. They had a reputation for sucking cock and jerking off guys. But again, they weren’t either of them his girlfriend, or anybody’s.

I had noticed what Mrs Atkinson had been wearing when I arrived; a rather tight sweater, which certainly showed off her breasts, and a skirt that was shorter than any I had seen on her. Her legs were bare, but she had heels on. I started wondering about her underwear, but then my cock began to get big and I had to stop or she would see a bulge in my jeans. But then she surprised me by referring herself to her clothing.

“My husband said to me this morning, before he left for work, that I looked as if I was dressing up for someone. But of course I wasn’t, unless it could have been for you, subconsciously.” She laughed. I laughed too. But then she added, “But what do you think? Do you notice anything different about my appearance?”

“Well, you look very nice,” I said. “But then, you always do.” It wasn’t intended to be a specially pointed comment; I was simply being polite.

“My husband said the sweater was very tight and might draw men’s eyes.”

I blushed again. He was right; it had been drawing mine from the moment I arrived.

“What do you think?” she asked, her eyes directly on me. “Do you think it’s a little too much?”

I honestly didn’t know what to say. I thought the sweater very sexy; but I couldn’t possibly say that. Then, without another word, she took my hand and held it up to her breast, the right one. My hand closed around it, instinctively. She put her hand over mine and squeezed harder. 

“Do you like them?” she asked.

“Yes, Mrs Atkinson,” I said. What else could I say?

“Give me your other hand,” she said. She put that on the other breast. I squeezed hard. 

“Oh, shit,” she said to my surprise. Suddenly she stripped off the sweater, and then undid her bra, revealing both her breasts. I saw that her nipples were stiff.

“Put your hands back,” she said.

I returned them to their earlier position. This time I felt the fleshiness of her breasts, the hardness of her nipples, the warmth of the skin. 

“Kiss them,” she said. 

I bent and began to kiss them, each in turn.

“Suck the nipples,” she said. 

I did so. My cock was hammering in my jeans.

“Have you anything I could squeeze?” she said, in apparent innocence. She reached down and felt my crotch.

“I see,” she said. Quickly she undid the zip and took out my cock. I was beyond blushing now. Quickly she slid down onto the floor and began to suck my cock, not quickly like the two slutty girls I knew, but slowly, deliberately, sensually. I felt my cock melting into her mouth.

“It’s not safe to fuck you,” she said. “Not unless you have a condom.”

I shook my head.

“I’m glad in a way. I like a young boy to be unprepared.”

She went back to sucking me. She reached up and put one of my hands on her head and I stroked her hair gently. She sucked, still slowly, but with intent. I knew it wasn’t going to take long; I was far too excited, and she was just too good at it. And then it came, welling up inside me, a seething volcano erupting out of my cock into her mouth.

Unlike the girls I had known, she managed to contain most of it in her mouth, and then swallowed it. She seemed to enjoy it, whereas those girls just spat the stuff out. She licked my cock clean then put it away.

“That was lovely,” she said. I didn’t know if she meant the whole experience, or just the stuff she got out of me. Anyway, I smiled and told her it was the most exciting thing I had had done. She said that next time she could do better. “Just wait and see, my dear. You have a lovely cock and I can’t wait to pleasure it again.”

I wondered whether she wanted to get her own pleasure; though I was inexperienced, I did know what women liked to do, or have done. But it seemed as if that was it. Perhaps next time. And indeed that was how it went. It became a regular things and little by little she showed me things to do, and showed me what other pleasure I could expect. It was only a matter of a month before we were fucking, and another month before she showed me how she liked it in the ass, and how to do it without any discomfort. In fact, she gave me more or less a complete education, and I did my best to return the compliment, learning how to suck her clit, how to lick her ass, how to give her a really good fucking. After three months, she even suggested I bring one of my friends, and she enjoyed both of us, one at each end. In all that time, Johnny never got to know. He told me he suspected someone was fucking his mother. But he never thought it was me.