© 2021, All rights reserved -- mimaster
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"Mom?" Neil called out as he walked down the hallway from his bedroom, heading toward the family room in the front of the house.
Betsy was in the kitchen, having just pulled out some cinnamon rolls from the oven, the sweet smell wafting throughout the house. It was usually a treat, and a ploy, she used to get him up on Sunday mornings for church, almost always with great success. That she'd baked them on a Monday morning was unusual. Then again, Neil hadn't been home over the weekend, having gone camping with his father.
She was busy spreading the icing on the rolls when he made his way into the room.
"Mom?"
"Good morning, sweetie. How did you sleep?"
"Good. Why are you making rolls? It's not Sunday," he asked, knowing the weekly routine, but not of the ulterior motive normally associated with it.
"Because you didn't get any yesterday," she smiled as she moved the plate of eight warm pastries to the dinette table, setting it in the middle. "And because I love you."
"I love you too," he responded happily as he plopped down in his seat, waiting patiently for her to bring him a plate. He'd already grabbed a paper napkin from the holder, putting it on his lap. Seconds later the plate and a glass of milk were set in front of him. "Thanks, mom."
"You're welcome, Neil. You can have three."
"Can I have the center one?" he asked. It was always his favorite. Betsy would bake them in a round pan, seven of them surrounding one placed in the middle. That one was always the plumpest, and it wouldn't have the outside crust all the others would have. It was his favorite, but he always felt compelled to ask permission before just taking it.
"Of course," she grinned as she took off her apron. She sat down across from him with a strong cup of coffee, wincing a bit when her ass hit the hard seat of the chair.
It was a vivid reminder of what she'd endured over
her
weekend. From the paddling and spanking she'd received from Sam, her naughty houseguest, to the reciprocal discipline Darren had given her when they fucked as part of reclaiming his wife; her ass was bruised and sore. Most of her body was, but she reveled in that feeling of being well-used. It was the sweet reward of being a true slut, and it had been a long time since she'd been able to relish in that experience.
Too long.
Neil was on his second roll when he noticed the large bruise on his mother's neck, right at the junction of her shoulder. "What's that?" he asked.
"It's not polite to point, Neil. And elbows off the table. You're home now, not off in the woods. Remember your manners, please."
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry."
"No need to be sorry. I know it's hard to come back after doing all that man-stuff you and your father must have been doing," she said as she peered over her coffee cup. "I'm sure there was a lot of spitting and farting going on."
Neil cackled at his mom's assertion. He thought it was cool that his mother was unlike any of those of his friends. She was a refined lady, but she was also very open and down to earth. He was closer to her because of it, and that made her easy to talk to about anything.
His curiosity wasn't quelled and he repeated his question, this time without pointing. "What's that on your neck?"
"It's called a hickey. It's a type of bruise."
"What happened?"
"Your father got a little carried away last night."
"Huh?"
"It happened during our alone time last night. It's mushy stuff, Neil."
"Oh," he replied, knowing it had something to do with kissing and affection. He was still too young to understand sex, but he'd already begun an infatuation with girls, even at eleven. He was so much more mature than his older brother had been at that age. He would turn twelve in just a few months, but sometimes Betsy thought he was already a teenager of a couple of years. Still inquisitive, he asked, "Why?"
"Why, what?"
"Why did dad do that to you?"
"Because I wanted him to. I like it when he misses me like that. If you want any more answers about it, you'll need to ask him."
Neil knew his mother wasn't trying to hide anything. She almost always answered those kinds of questions for him. He didn't realize the reasons why, necessarily, but he seldom got shut down.
Betsy, and Darren for that matter, were very open with Neil when it came to the relationship dynamics between a man and a woman. More than they had been with Gene; it was different with him being eight years older. Some of it was just being better, more experienced parents. A lot of it came from their own relationship, and how it had evolved the last four years. Ever since that initial naughty vacation with their friends in Chicago, they decided not to hide who they were. Shielding Neil from the X-rated part of their life was important, but denying that they were sexual seemed foolish. They wanted him to be more confident with the opposite sex than Gene had turned out to be.
In that regard, Betsy made a choice that morning not to try and hide that particular hickey. She actually had dozens of them all over her body, but that particular one was going to be damn near impossible to conceal. It was too large, and it was going to last a long time. With it being the beginning of summer, she had no intention of covering up for the length of time it would take for it to fade away. Instead she decided to be open with it from the start, believing being honest would provide the best explanation.
Neil understood her comment about having to get the rest of the details, if he really wanted to know, from his father. His parents did an incredible job of sharing the parental duties. There were times, like this one, where Betsy would defer an answer, telling Neil that there were certain things that were going to be better explained from a man's perspective. He was easily able to accept that.
"Okay," he shrugged. "Hey, mom?"
"Yes?" she smiled sweetly.
"Why is the tent up?" he wondered, finally getting around to asking the question that was on his mind when he walked out of his bedroom.
"Pardon?"
"The tent. It's up... in the backyard."
It was only a question of when Neil would notice it. Darren hadn't had time to take it down before he left for work that morning. With all of three of the bedrooms being in the back of the house, each one had a window or two that faced the backyard. If Neil hadn't looked out to see what kind of a day he was waking up to, he would have noticed it as soon as he went outside to play, or if they left to go somewhere.
Betsy played ignorant to the circumstances that led to it being pitched in the middle of the night, in a downpour. Instead she used the same logic she'd just used a moment before.
"I couldn't tell you, Neil. Must be a man thing. Maybe you should ask your dad tonight when he comes home."
"Okay," he shrugged.
