"Mom, can I cum on your face?"
Looking back, I know why I asked.
I had been masturbating alone in my bedroom for the past four hours, teasing the same erection without allowing myself to orgasm. I would usually lock myself in my room while my Mom cooked dinner, but jerking off for four hours straight was uncommon for me. I would usually browse the internet, or play video games, or finish whatever homework was leftover from the bus ride home after school.
For no reason in particular, I was feeling extra horny today. All day at school I was shifting in my chair, trying to hide the uncomfortable bulge in my pants. My teachers' lectures were summarily tuned out, and instead I envisioned my favorite internet porn clips. As soon as I got home, I yelled out a quick greeting to my mother, and made a beeline for my bedroom.
What ensued was four hours of unapologetic self-gratification. It felt amazing bringing myself 'just' to the point of climax, but without actually crossing the border. Each time I would build myself up, it would feel even better than the last time, and by the end of it all I was in ecstasy. It got to the point where I could barely keep moving my arm, and it was then that I decided to finally finish myself off.
As I picked up the pace, my heart began to pound. My breath became heavy, and sweat beaded on my forehead. No drug could replicate the euphoria that I was feeling at that moment. I was hammering my cock like a man possessed, moving closer and closer to my ultimate goal. Unfortunately, before I could actually complete the deed...
"SUPPER'S ALMOST READY HUN!"
My mother was calling me for dinner from the kitchen, and I knew better than to keep her waiting long.
I didn't want to waste four hours of hard work just to rush it at the end. With a heavy heart and a stiff member, I decided to hold my orgasm off until after dinner, when I could really enjoy what I had setup for myself.
I got up from my bed, grabbed the closest pair of sweatpants that I could find, and tried to stuff my raging hard-on into them. This created a circus tent in my pants, but I knew how to deal with that. I pressed my boner up against my stomach, secured it with the waistband of my pants, and was ready to head downstairs for dinner.
As soon as I left my room, I knew there was going to be a big problem. My heart was still beating out of my chest, my breath was still short and labored, and a thin layer of cold sweat coated my entire body. I was still as horny as I had ever been in my entire life; so horny that it was uncomfortable.
With each step towards the stairs, my mind raced. I saw mental pictures of boobs, pussy, ass, facials, anal, and every other depraved thing that I could think of.
I should clarify that even though I was an 18 year old high school senior, I have never been with a woman in real life. No first base, second base, none of that. I only had my internet pornography and my hand, and that was beginning to wear thin.
I reached the stairs, and started my descent. My cock was throbbing. My palms were clammy. Halfway down the stairs now. I could hear my heart beating, but only barely over the sound of air rushing in and out of my nose. I was literally seeing spots. My raging hormones blocked any capacity for rational thought. At this point, I was more animal than man. Bottom of the stairs now.
I could barely walk, but I forced myself to turn the corner and enter the kitchen. Two plates were already on the table, one for my mother and one for me, just like every day. Mom was at the kitchen counter with her back to me, adding some last-minute seasoning to the chicken that had just come out of the oven.
"I'm just about to bring everything to the table, hun." She spoke without looking back at me.
All reasonable thought was gone. Every inch of my body was being controlled by my wanting cock. My mouth was dry when I opened it.
"Mom, can I cum on your face?"
She stopped what she was doing.
I instantly regretted it. Rationality came crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I couldn't believe that I had actually said what I just did. My eyes widened to the size of the dinner plates that were on the table, and my perception of time ground to a halt. I wanted to run upstairs to my room and dive out the window, but I was too petrified with fear to move.
My mom slowly put down the jar of seasoning that she was holding, and deliberately rested both of her hands on the counter. The air was thick with tension (and the smell of roasted chicken, the more pleasant of the two). Each second in silence passed like a year. She finally responded.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Her voice wavered.
She sounded much less angry than I was expecting. Good, I wouldn't be sleeping in an orphanage tonight.
I paused, and decided that if I had already gone this far, then I might as well be honest.
"Yes, can I please?"
She waited again, trying to get a grip on the situation. She half-turned to grab a bowl for the mashed potatoes, but didn't make eye contact with me. When she spoke again, her tone was more concerned than disgusted.
"You know, I saw something on TV the other day. They were doing a segment about boys who become sexually attracted to their mothers."
