I glanced in through the back door into the dark kitchen, obviously I was late for my curfew and I knew that if my mother was not asleep she would more than likely be waiting in the living room to come in through the front door, all I wanted to do was go downstairs into my room, masturbate and go to sleep.
Tonight was one of those nights I would not soon forget, not that it had been anything too special (nothing to write home about, as some would say) but because of the sheer blue-balled torture I endured from eight in the evening until just after eleven, when I should have been home. My girlfriend, Ashley Gibbon, wanted to fool around a little though actual intercourse was out of the question. The fooling around turned into giving her an orgasm but she left me high and dry, never quite allowing me to cum but constantly getting me to that point—and then her parents came home which killed the mood as I tried to escape undetected, thankfully I think I accomplished that.
Every man, and boy, knows that the only way to get rid of the dreaded and painful syndrome of Blue Balls is to expunge the build up of semen by any means possible, and for now it looked like I would have to slip into one of my regular fantasies and paw off.
The lights all over the main floor seemed to be off, a good indication that my mom, Joan Hanson, went to bed and would not know that I broke curfew again, still I had to be careful parents had a funny way of impossibly hearing a back or front door opening and closing when a child comes in late. I dug my keys out from my front pocket, my finger brushed up against my flaccid shaft sending a wave of pleasure through my midsection making it clearly obvious Mr. Happy would not take long to become happy. I slipped the key into the lock as silently as I could, unlocked the deadbolt slowly as not to make a sound and slowly,
very
slowly pushed the door open. The door squeaked just a little, I stopped and pushed my way through the small opening, closed the door and locked it up once again.
It was then that I noticed the light streaming out from under the doorway leading down to the basement, the laundry room and my bedroom. I knew I turned off the light when I left, all of the laundry that needed to be washed was already finished which meant that my mother had no business down there except to see if I was home when my curfew came. Shaking my head I knew I was caught but I would think of that later, right now all I wanted was to remove the dull throbbing ache in my shorts.
Crossing the dark kitchen, still glancing into the kitchen I noticed something move in the living room,
probably Garfield
, I thought. Grabbing the doorknob separating me from the basement I heard something from the living room, I glanced over to the dark living room. What exactly did I hear; was it a grunt or a moan?
Letting go of the doorknob I walked slowly over to the open doorway between the kitchen and the living room, from my vantage point I could see Joan's feet pressed up against the armrest. I closed my eyes drew in a deep breath and sighed, she fell asleep on the couch and I had to wake her up. A couple of years ago we were in a car accident in the middle of winter, luckily me and the other driver were in perfect shape save for a few cuts and bruises but my mom was not so fortunate: her spine was pushed out of place, we found out very quickly that if she was not on a decent surface for sleep her back would ache terribly for a couple of days until it had a chance to straighten itself out, and I had to wake her which would start the Big Speech about Responsibility and Curfew. I reluctantly moved into the dark living room knowing my aching blue balls would have to wait even longer.
She whispered something under her breath in her sleep, the words were unintelligible but I thought I knew what might have been going through her head just by the sound of her voice. After all I did get Ashley off at least a couple times throughout the night. I shuddered, that simple tone of voice was not something I wanted to hear coming from my mother, that tone told me without a doubt that she could still have hungry feelings of sex—and no kid wants to know that about their parents; if possible I would guess most of the kids in the world would rather be ignorant and believe their parents were
moving furniture
in the middle of the night and not having sex.
But what I saw when I leaned over the couch floored me; I froze in one spot not truly believing what I was seeing: I saw my mother's fingers gliding over up and down over her naked sex, after a short while she switched to light circles for a moment and back to moving up and down over her clit. My eyes saw a light sheen of wetness over three fingers, two rubbing up and down over her clit, the third pressed down on top of the first two, and a wet glint over her exposed, aroused and puffed lips. Her pink nightgown, one that dad bought her a couple months before he filed for divorce to be with some rich woman in Edmonton, was pulled or rode all the way up almost to her belly button. Her pubic hair, from what I could see to the sides of her hand, was light brown, neatly trimmed to the point where all of the curls were gone. Her legs, immaculately shaved within the past day or two, flexed and relaxed, pushed against the armrest of the couch and eased off, all in time with her fingers self-manipulation. She moved her hand up and off of her clit giving me a complete birds-eye view of her sex, she brought her hand to her mouth and lightly licked her fluids, I saw her pink lips folded back and puffed out glinting under the filtered moonlights from the drapes covering the living room windows before her hand guided itself back against her sex, as soon as her fingers pressed against her clit she moaned and whispered something under her breath again.
I saw her other hand move, it guided itself up to her chest and started caressing her hidden breast, first the left and the right, giving each a light squeeze before going to the other. My eyes flicked from her hand caressing her breasts to her other hand down below as she masturbate; my eyes followed her left hand, the hand squeezing and feeling her own breasts, then wandered down her chest, over her tight stomach and stopped at her belly. She pushed her hand up under her nightgown towards her breasts, from above I could see her fingers clasp her left nipple and gently squeeze, I listened to her gasp and looked down to her face.
That was when I realized I was no longer floored at watching my mother masturbate on the couch below me, it was also then that I knew what I was doing—watching my mother please herself—was about as wrong as if she watched me, but I could not pull myself away either. It was her facial expression of lust and pleasure with her mouth partly open and her eyes tightly shut that caught me, for the first time—and I do mean the
first time
—I saw my mother under a new light, in that moment I saw just how sexy she really was. In that moment Ashley's face and her beautiful naked body danced in my head but something was different, something was not the same. She was not as beautiful as my mother writhing on the couch in the middle of the night under the pale moonlight.
My eyes were fully enamored with watching my mother masturbate unknowingly in front of me but not my whole body,
my
hand wandered from the side of my hip across to my midsection, I did not have to go down any length to realize that I had a huge erection tenting against my jeans, as if on automatic my hand trailed down the length of my hardened shaft to the very start of my sac and slowly started back upwards to my sheathed head. I closed my eyes for a moment hoping that I would regain some sense knowing that watching my mother was wrong, instead I saw her in my mind, her hand gently stroking up under and along her slit. I could even see her finger pressing down against her clit and the shocks of pleasure being sent through her midsection. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to walk around the couch, drop to my knees and remove her hand just to place mine there to please her, to give her a wonderful orgasm, I wanted to do all of that
and
cup my own sex in my hand and pleasure myself.
My silent reverie broke she gave out a shuddering groan, not an orgasm but close. My eyes forced themselves open, my hand rubbed a little faster over my hard cock buried cruelly behind a thick layer of black denim, I watched her starting to shiver as her fingers worked faster in circles over and around where I visualized her clit to be, her gasps increased in volume and frequency; her body shuddered and her back arched, went down and she breathed in a truly deep breath and slowed herself down.
Her hand dropped, her finger went from above her cock and slowly,
agonizingly
