He gulped as he watched his mother continue cleaning. His heart was racing, his pulse beating into his ear. This had to be some sort of hallucination, she was fine with drinking filthy juice off the floor, and didn't have a hint of anger towards her son. Monica moved to and fro around the kitchen finishing up some chores. The dishes were now finished from the wash, and she leaned over the counter to open the dishwasher door. As she pulled it, steam erupted, passing along her body.
Monica was well into her middle age, and had some former habits taking its toll on her body, yet still she is what most would consider a milf. In her youth she was petite, but quite busty. She wasn't bright, nor did she have any talents. No, she got her way through life from her quite nicely shaped bust-line. As a rebellious young woman in a small town she had a mean streak of sneaking out, drinking and chain smoking, and finding anyone to spend the night with. It wasn't until she met Matthew's father that she cooled her jets.
She fell in love with a college athlete, who did his fair share of partying as well, but kept it together enough to land a job at the family owned corporation closer to the city. While settling down and living in the suburbs she had calmed herself down enough to raise three loving children. There was a sense of relief that despite them all being able to, not of the kids in the family left home on their own. Maybe it was the economy, or maybe that gene of screwing up was strong in them as well. Monica tried not to worry too hard about that, her husband Adam was getting enough to afford a house large enough for all of them.
Still, her son Matthew always seemed a little more behind than the other two. He didn't socialize, and as the middle child Monica felt a little guilt she may have not have given him enough attention during the years. She only glanced a few times over to him sitting at the table. He had been saying some weird things, odd requests and questions, but she knew she had to make him happy. Or more like, she felt compelled. The juice she slurped up didn't sit well with her, but showing that to him might disappoint him, and that wasn't an option.
At the table, Matthew couldn't move a muscle. The beads of sweat slowly moved down his forehead, he watched as his mother moved back and forth. Her body wasn't as thin as he had seen in photos, but he would consider this better, or something that he's used to. With her waist still pretty narrow, and her hips blossomed and thick, she really did fit a bit of the stereotype of the suburban mom. Along with a pale complexion and brown hair she couldn't look more like someone that could have thrown a scene at a store. She usually had a baseline amount of anger and annoyance that seemed to be evaporated, for him at least.
Well, since she did drink juice off the floor, Matthew figured a more inappropriate request could be asked of her.
"Mom, show me how you would twerk in a night club."
Matthew could barely get it out without gulping, but as Monica heard it, she stopped. She closed the cabinet door she had just placed a dish in and looked over her shoulder. Why this? Of all things he would want to see, his mother shaking her own ass was not something she expected. But that is all it was to her, unexpected, unusual, not necessarily a problem however...
"Alright...but it's been a while, I might not be as loose as I used to be..."
Monica prepared herself, getting in place so she was fully in view of Matthew. He looked almost sheepish and pale, maybe after he was done watching she'd let him check up on him. For now she had to get ready. She fixed her t-shirt and made sure her bra was in place properly. While holding onto the counter she stretched her hips out behind her. Admittedly she had let herself go, but attempted time to time to get into a consistent exercise routine. Looking on the bright side, if this is something that Matthew liked, she wouldn't mind doing it a few times a week for him. She felt her cheeks jiggle, clapping against each other in her tight leggings. Her underwear was riding up as she began to sweat. It must have been getting hot in the room as she saw her son sweating alongside her as he watched.
"I'm trying my best, I was a lot better before all this junk in the trunk..." She meekly said.
Not only was this surreal, it was incredibly arousing. Matthew couldn't pretend there wasn't a throbbing cock in his pajama pants. After a few quiet moments she spoke up, her voice was rather calming to hear as she still shook her ass around. Seems like he was truly getting away with this.
Is there any other proof he needed?