Mari walked into the living room, wearing jeans and a blouse. "You're dressed up today," I observed.
"Blue balls."
"What?" I asked.
"Blue balls." Mari repeated. "That's your problem."
"What are you talking about?"
"Blue balls. When a guy is hard, but he doesn't get to cum. The blood gets trapped in his penis, his balls get blue, and they start to hurt." She sat down next to me.
"Yeah?"
"That's your problem. You said you haven't had sex with Dina, right?"
"Yeah."
"What have you done, anything?"
"We made out."
"There you go. You're not getting any, but you are close to it. That's what gives you blue balls. So you've had sex on the brain. And that's why you came up with this whole thing about me trying to seduce you."
"Yeah, I guess you're right." I was trying to brush her off. Now that things were all patched up, she seemed to think that intimate details were fine to share. I didn't look forward to having a regular gossip hour. But she did have a point here -- my response wasn't a flippant lie.
"I have to apologize again, because I know that I haven't exactly been helping with how I dress."
"No, it's--"
"You don't have to lie, honey. I know about these things. You're a boy, you're at the point in your life where sex is always on your mind. I know I'm an attractive woman. It's natural that I might, you know, get you going a bit sometimes. But you seem to have been thinking about me a lot recently," she walked toward my chair. "Now, I need to know, does Denny have a little something for his Mami, hmm? A little crush, maybe?"
"Mari, no. That's...that's just weird. I don't feel anything like that. You're my stepmother for--"
"Shh," she put her fingers to her lips. "I want an honest answer, and I know how to get it."
She pulled her shirt over her head. "What are you doing, Mari?!"
She unbuttoned her jeans, unzipped them, and said, "I know that if you, Denny, say you don't feel anything like that, then you are not attracted to me. And if that's true, you won't enjoy this."
"Uh, I gotta go, Mari, I really gotta--" She slapped her hands down on my shoulders.
"You," she emphasized, "don't gotta go anywhere. You are just afraid of me. You are afraid of your attraction to me." She shimmied out of her jeans and then sat on my knees.
"Now, Denny, do you like this?" she asked. How could I not? She was sitting on the edge of my lap, clad only in her bra and panties. I had no idea how to respond, so I reverted to my earlier strategy of "do nothing."
She slid forward a little more, cupping her breasts and waving them under my nose. "Does this turn you on, Denny?" Was it wrong that I was getting hard? I'm sure any straight, red-blooded male would have the same reaction. Right or wrong, I had to fight my body. I had no idea what she was up to, but if I showed that I wanted her in any way, I knew she would use it against me somehow.
"Huh, Denny? Do you think your stepmommy is hot?" She moved closer, rubbing her hands over my stomach. God, there was no way she could believe I wouldn't be aroused by this. And there was no way I could keep myself from getting aroused. My pants were now obviously tenting out.
"Why don't I ask someone who always tells the truth?" Her hands moved down from my stomach toward my crotch. This was just getting weird now. "I see someone likes what he sees."
Her thumbs pressed into my thighs, bumping against the base of my erection. "Now what are we going to do about this, hmm?" She encircled the bulge in my pants with her hands so that it stuck out between them. What was she asking me to do?
"What I mean is, what I wanna know, is whose fault this..." emphasizing the last word, she pushed her hands together so that my erection stood out even more, "is. Is it my fault or is it Dina's fault? Are you all hot and bothered because you can't get any from her or is it all because of little old me?"
"It's my fault, Mari," I said, relieved I could come up with a clever answer for that one. "My fault, it's just that Iā" It's just that I didn't know where to go from there. Her thumbs were pressing into my balls and her index fingers were hooked around the root of my shaft. My heart was racing faster, and the her grip constricted my member so that I could feel every beat in my chest and in my lap.
"You were masturbating in the hall last night, weren't you?" My muscles were beginning to twitch involuntarily and I throbbed in her hands, so much so that it was obvious even through my pants. Her eyes got fiery, "You were watching me, weren't you?"
"N-no...I wasn't." Strong case there, buddy. God, I was fucked. My body wasn't lending any help to my cause either. I was twitching so bad now that it looked as if I had a wild animal trying to burst from my pants that had been caught between Mari's hands.
"Yes you were. You were acting all funny in the hall. And then today I saw some of your clothes laying out in your room, so I went to put them in the maid's hamper, and what did I find? That pair of boxers you wore, with big white stains across the front."
Nailed. No use to continue denying it, so I kept clammed up.
"Nothing to say to that?" she asked. "I think you need to admit your problem to me, so we can help fix it."
Her thumbs began to move in circles, rubbing my testicles. "What problem is that?" I asked.
"Simple. You want to fuck me," she said. "Now you need to admit that, to me and to yourself."
The tone of her voice sounded as if she were initiating therapy for my perceived Oedipal Complex. Or pseudo-Oedipal, I should say.
This was the breaking point, though. I had lost all my ground save for an inch -- my original plan failed, my suspicion of her attempt at seduction was all a misconception, and now she had rooted out the fact that I was lusting after her. But if I admitted that I wanted Mari, I was hers. I had to hold on to that last inch or perish.
Her hands finally broke the diamond pattern they had been holding around my bulge for so long. Instead, they moved upward to wrap around the shaft proper. I gulped as her fingers interwove and locked around my member, her thumbs coming to rest on top of the head. Her hands kept the thing from jerking about as it had been. Now I was simply pulsating in her grip, unsure of why she was doing this but secretly hoping it would go further.
"Repeat after me and say: 'Mami, I want to fuck you.'"
That same feeling returned, the one from last night when I had nearly crept into Mari's bedroom and taken her. I was burning, sweat dripping from my chin, hands shaking. I should get out of here, I should run. I put my hands on her shoulders, ready to push.
"Denny, I will be very angry if you try to push me away." She didn't sound angry, rather disappointed in what I was about to do. I don't think "I will be very angry" had ever deterred me before, but now I stopped dead in my tracks. Mari had been so understanding about all my recent faux pas. I felt as if I owed her somehow, as if something made me want to please her. She was helping that feeling along -- her hands were still, but her thumbs squeezed and caressed my head through my pants.
My hands went limp and slipped off her shoulders, down her arms, and back to my sides. Just that brief touch felt amazing, and I wished, for a second, to go back and repeat that moment again. I craved that caramel skin, beginning to glisten with sweat. Oh, I needed release in so many ways. Need, guilt, shame, frustration -- I had to have release from them.
"That's a boy," said Mari. "Now, you know it, and I know it. It's not a big secret anymore, so admit it. Say it." Release! She was offering it to me -- if I lost that last inch of ground, I didn't need to fight any more. What was the sense in denying something we both knew to be true?
"Say: 'Mami'...."
"Mari--"
"No, 'Mami,'" she corrected. Her hands moved for the first time since she had grabbed my shaft. They moved up and then down again in a gradual stroke, as if I were fucking her palms, and they stopped when her thumbs pressed against my head once again.
"Mami," I said, panting from the stimulation. It was the first time I had called her that. I knew Mari was trying to play the maternal role, but it felt condescending when she referred to herself like that. And it felt, no it was, infantilizing to call her that.
"I," she repeated that stroking motion she had made on the last word.
"I."
"Want," and again.
"Want."
"To."
"To." She was late this time, but stroked again even harder. The motion squeezed a drop of precum from my head. Then, my prick spasmed. It felt like a mini-orgasm, and I released a stream of precum, enough to go through my boxers and make a small wet circle on my pants. I yelped in pleasure.
"Fuck," another stroke.