You stretch languidly as the sun peers through your window, waking you up.

Turning over to check the alarm clock, you see that it is 11:57 AM. An abysmal time to wake up at, but you had nothing to do today anyway. You don't bother with changing out of your pajamas before you leave your bedroom, opting to preserve the gentle softness of a long rest.

You head over to the kitchen, as part of your regular morning routine, to see that your mother is nowhere to be found. That's... odd. She's usually doing something by now, whether it be some chore or cooking food or... whatever. You can see her car is still in the driveway, so she hasn't gone anywhere.

In an attempt to salvage the routine, you head over to her bedroom. The door is cracked slightly, so you figure she isn't in any compromised position.

You figured wrong.

You hear her soft breathing as her head nuzzles the pillow, her hair frizzing against the cloth. All of her blankets are pushed away from her, leaving her body bare for all the world to see. The only thing covering her is the cutest pajama shirt you've ever seen, looking as if she has been wearing it ever since she was a kid. Only, you see anything BUT a kid.

Her breasts are tantalizing, the soft cotton shirt seemingly amplifying the roundness of her teats. They look ample and full, as if they would begin leaking warm milk at any moment. The waist narrows her figure, but only just; her folds leaving only a small pouch of belly fat, the rest having been distributed... elsewhere. Specifically, lower down.

Her thighs are mountainous. One could easily get lost in such a vast expanse. Having already fulfilled their purpose, her hips have fallen into a more comfortable, if imposing shape. They have seen a few birthing's before, and they will gladly work through a few more. Tapering off into a pair of gentle, yet firm calves.

But all of that is merely the frame, for the most glorious ass you have ever seen. Angels have wept at less magnificent sights. It is a cushion of everlasting softness, seemingly unblemished by time or use. It glistens in the sunlight, as if beckoning you forwards.

You've never felt this way about your own mother before... What changed? Have you merely been blind to her everlasting pleasures, or has she been hiding this from you the entire time? Whatever the case, these urges inside of you... You barely feel inclined to resist.

What do you do?