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Coles Lessons Pt 01

Coles Lessons Pt 01

by erosteve
19 min read
4.75 (38900 views)
adultfiction
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It's odd how sometimes the smallest circumstances in life lead to the most significant changes.

Kim, a happily married mother of 2, enjoys her stay-at-home life. Nestled in the Ohio woods, she and David, her husband of the past 20 years, have a great setup. Quiet home away from prying eyes and gossiping tongues, quiet life with them and the farm animals. David's engineering job provides the income, and Kim's psychology degree makes her online business more than enough in both income and time.

Their kids, Cole, 19, and Chloe, 18, are both active in school and frecklish, the product of Irish and German descent. Chloe is the outgoing, brattish one, and Cole, well, he's the consummate athlete. If it's not the swim team all winter, it's soccer in the spring, and now, football in the fall. He got his 6', 185 lb frame and agility from his father, and those glowing blue eyes, well, what's not to like? Lithe and personable, but quiet. Time will fix that.

Anyways, like most stories, this one starts out without anything unusual to suspect. Kim's routine includes the norm, endless meals, housekeeping, and feeding the chickens, horses, and the occasional duck. Which brings us to "that" day.

The laundry had built up to the point of a small hill in the main floor laundry room. The smell of sweat and grime basically permeated the hallway, so it was time to do something about it. Dressed in her usual casual sweatpants and loose-fitting T-shirt, her demure 5'1" frame was only accentuated by her braless preference, those ample but manageable C-cups showing little of gravity's constant assault on them. These have been the stuff dreams were made of, especially when framed in front of her butt-length raven hair and deep, auburn eyes. It required constant due diligence to keep nipples 1 and 2 from showing up unannounced, especially on cold autumn days like they were having now, mid-September. "Gotta remember that," she recently reminded her internal self as Cole strode in from late Saturday afternoon practice. "Hey, buddy, eyes up here."

"Sorry, Mom. You really should cover up, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, well, your dad's not due back until tomorrow, so--I'm going casual.

Drop your laundry here, sport. How was the day?" She asked, holding up the large, plastic laundry basket. Cole had entered with a small armful of daily school clothes topped with his football workout stuff.

"Good practice, thanks. Coach has us doubling down. Something about bulking up, I think. More for the front line than us receivers, though. Poor guys; they don't have the aerobic capacity."

"Really, Cole?" She intoned, slightly pissed as he unceremoniously dropped the load on the pile, not 2 feet from where she was holding the basket. "Again, sport...eyes up here." Cole was side-gawking at her pointed distractions as he released the load to the floor.

"Whoops. Sorry, again, Mom." He blushed, looking away.

"Poor guy," Kim thought to herself, "Nancy needs to do something about his focus here." Nancy, a recent "nearly" girlfriend, Kim thought, might be good for Cole--get him to be a bit more social, and for God's sake, he needs to get laid.

Or, at least, learn how to stop being so obvious. It's my house; I should be able to relax in it.

Whatever.

Anyway, the point is, laundry rooms and wooden floors do NOT go together, but in the Reynolds house, well, too bad for that.

Cole headed for the door at the hallway and performed his usual, inevitable stunt on

Mom. "Gotcha again, Mom!" and shutting off the light, pulled the door closed. Bathed in darkness, she quickly shouted, "You ass!" but it was playful, as always, and she heard his bare feet tromp down the hallway to his room. Still holding the basket rim with her right hand, Kim took the first steps over the inevitable pile on the floor to advance to the doorway.

Her right foot stepped on the world's most slippery item on a wood floor--a fleece blanket--causing her to lose her balance as it slid out and to her right. Her brain reacting, she lowered her torso, plopped the basket down on the pile in the darkness, and extended her left hand down to stabilize herself when it landed on the world's second most slippery item, a thick wooly sock. Her left leg pushed her forward into the pile as both arms failed her--left went left and right pushed the basket out and away.

She face-planted directly into the top of the pile, landing softly against the ample mass, but pressing her face into something you couldn't plan if you had to.

There, against the microsecond of her brain's ability to realize anything, she had landed with her face directly into the cup of Cole's jockstrap, her nose mid-cup, the waistband against her forehead, and her mouth directly where his sac would be supported.

To say she freaked out doesn't do the moment justice; however, it was the milliseconds that passed immediately thereafter that mattered the most. While her brain was screaming "disgusting," she had to replace the air in her lungs, now so forcefully expelled with her landing, with new, and struggling against an endlessly slippery surface with no purchase on the flooring, there was only one place from where she could get it.

It was an unconscious thing. Feeling the wetness against her lips, she kept those closed and instead inhaled through her nose. As the smell of Cole's 4-hour workout, trapped in the fabric of the woven cup, permeated her senses, Kim locked up. In just a fraction of the second it took for her arms to stop struggling, she went blank.

That smell.

"Holy fuck," she thought, "THAT'S how he smells there?" Kim's thoughts were a stranger's thoughts ringing through her brain.

The problem is, she could feel her nipples tightening...her face flushing red with heat, and it radiated through her core down to her labia, which had definitely received the message. A few millennia of human existence primed the pump, and her clit hardened, swelling on its own as she paused, breathed out, and, without even thinking about it consciously, lowered her face into the material, exhaled completely, and slowly, ever so slowly, inhaled again, filling her lungs with the musk.

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There in the darkness, the bottom of Kim's brain dropped out, and she did the unthinkable--she extended her tongue into the wetness and pressed down. The salty, sweet mixture of pheromones mixed with sweat put her over the edge. She retracted her tongue, pulling the fabric with it, and sucked. This cup wasn't just "moist" or "damp"; it was soaked, and the fluid drew up over her tongue and onto her brain stem.

Kim moaned. It was guttural. Primal. Pushing herself up finally in a knees-down position, she raised her torso, but the motion caused her nipples to scrape the inside of the T-shirt and further elongate, obscenely large now, hanging down from her breasts. The signal proceeded directly to the inflamed lips at her thighs, swelling them further, and she felt the small gush of moisture.

Too much.

Using her left hand to keep the cup against her mouth, she fell onto her right side and rolled over onto her back. Her right hand was under her shirt in an instant, pressing her breast in, trying to gain some control over her body's reaction, but her fingers found the inflamed nipple and squeezed, then rolled it over, further accentuating her arousal.

She was on fire, and she knew it. Her clit pulsed. She rolled her head back onto the laundry pile, repositioning the cup further into her mouth, exhaled, and, sucking more of the fluid out, let her left hand wander over the goose bumps of her tummy down into her thin bush, over the swollen nub, and press against her sex.

"No, no...no...stop this, Kim," she told herself, but her fingers spread the oily lips apart, and any logic that was acting to slow the onslaught was overrun by the new sensation of prodding and parting them, spurring on new tingles, shallowing her breathing, and laying track for the train that was surely approaching.

Kim's mind took over. As the fluid again coated her tongue, her brain put a picture of Cole's ball sac there, and she fluttered her tongue as though she could surround it. Her heartbeat sped up. Panting now, and even though the fingers of her left hand were pressing even deeper into her flooding canal, she envisioned the hard shaft that would be atop those balls and her hand slowly stroking it as she intended to bring him to a climax. Those delicious veins. That wet, bulbous head, leaking its precum. That thick, heavy load that would surely wait for her lips to surround it all and gratefully receive every drop.

For the next several minutes, Kim primed her sex, gently pushing and pulling to a series of out-of-body pictures her brain was showing her about Cole's sexual organs, each one prompted by the smell and taste of the garment she was actively devouring.

She was there, and she knew how to harness it. As her lips surrounded the engorged shaft in her mind, her left hand gently pulling and prodding his ball sac, Kim envisioned the heavy load pulsing first in the testicles in her hand, then pulsing up the shaft. She sealed her lips around the tip, waiting. In the darkness, her left hand left the dripping hole and swept close, even circles around her now-amply-protruding clit until the slow burn in her abdomen locked down, and the cascade of hormones overtook her.

Her eyes rolled back when she felt her pussy lips close tightly, the canal inside undulating in rhythm with her clit's pulses. Her breasts were lit on fire--too hot to hold, too sensitive to release, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Even her anal sphincter pressed in, then opened, then repeated until she clamped her legs tight and, turning her head into the laundry pile, screamed out the pleasure to no one.

"Now. Get it now, Kim," she thought, as the orgasm slowed, subsiding, but not relenting. She knew this was only a momentary reprieve, and if she didn't finish this, she'd be a mess the rest of the evening and night.

In the bottom drawer of the closet, 2 feet away, was Chloe's old hairbrush. The soft-handled kind with a circle of soft bristles and a round end and smooth, undulating curves for a good grip. Kim had put it there weeks ago when it was mixed in, but now, oh...now...now it had a purpose, and Kim couldn't get to it quickly enough.

In a flash, her shirt was off, her sweatpants down and off her ankles, both feet spread to the sides and her resting neatly against the pile, she used her left hand to gently spread her nether lips open, now dripping their cream, and felt the smooth end of the hairbrush spread the cavity ever so slightly.

It was heaven.

6, maybe 7 inches of a soft, pliable rubber that she could easily massage with her fingers. That had been a very nice, albeit unexpected, clitoral orgasm, but Kim knew herself that it was only a precursor to the full-blown vaginal orgasm she was capable of. As she pressed forward, it was easily covered in her cream--she only stopped to absorb the swollen feeling. Her left hand retrieved the nearby jock strap and pressed it firmly to her face. She exhaled, warming the fabric and letting her imagination run freely again, inhaled the fabric as she watched herself in 3rd person licking Cole's balls where they meet his frame, eagerly swallowing the musk and sweat, out of control for more.

In her mind's eye, her left hand surrounded his shaft again, gently pumping, stroking upwards until she felt the soft ridge, then cupped over the head and lowered it to her waiting mouth.

Kim retracted the innocent tool, then pushed forward, burying it deeply in one swift motion, spreading her legs widely to accommodate the feeling. She knew right where she wanted it, and angling it upwards, towards her belly button, scraped the pebbly ridge of her G-spot while pressing her perineum down, causing the juices to flow over her anus and onto the clothes below.

Over and over again, Kim probed herself while watching her son's cock swell, throb, and eventually, some 10 or 15 minutes later, explode into her mouth again. Her torso flared, then contracted shut, squeezing her cuntal muscles in and out, milking the brush handle and wetting her hand. Adjusting the angle, she pressed in and deep until she felt the familiar "bump" of her cervix. The motion short-circuited her brain, and the spasms, deep and rolling now, overtook her ability to breathe. Kim dropped her head onto her shoulder and was only vaguely aware that her mouth was open and drooling.

Good orgasms are like that.

She rolled to her side, straightening her legs and gasping into the clothes pile for air, squeezing her thighs to accommodate the onslaught of her sex. When the hormonal cascade ended, she was exhausted. Sweaty and trying to catch her breath, she listened for any activity from the hallway or anywhere that might put her at risk, but hearing none, gathered her senses, and buck-naked and dripping still, made her way to the door by the light underneath it. Locking it shut, she turned on the light and examined herself.

Her breasts were inflamed. The normally demure nipples were grossly protruding, flushed deep red and pink, and her lips--she could feel them uncomfortably between her legs still leaking the lubricant of her sex.

"Holy Fuckity Fucking Fuck." She said it out loud. "Where in blazes did THAT come from? Girl--get a hold of yourself."

Dressing, she gathered the whites into the basket, throwing the jockstrap first in a feeble attempt to bury it. She approached the washer with its lid open and dumped them in.

But--she paused.

There, on top of the load inside the washer, was the jockstrap. 2, maybe 3 minutes passed as she stared at it, wondering, reliving it.

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"What the fuck, Kim, get a hold of yourself. Please." She picked it up, still warm and damp, but now loaded with arguably the wrong memories for a mother of 2.

She stretched it, estimating its size, turned it over and moved her hand to throw it back into the wash.

"Dammit." She knew she would.

Her hand, almost in slow motion, pulled it back, and tentatively...oh, so slowly, brought it back to her nose. Her right hand on the washer now to steady herself, she exhaled into it, warm and slow, then deeply inhaled through her nose. The scent was no less pronounced now, and she felt her wetness clamp down, her nipples again stiffening against the relatively soft fabric of her t-shirt.

"Wow." Her mind drifted to the images her brain had conjured up, her face a flat effect as she relived how her orgasm arrived. She was thinking about it again, and now, her lips turned up and her eyebrows narrowed in almost a sinister grin. This--this was her secret, and she liked it.

Tossing the garment into the wash, she went on her way for the rest of the evening.

And so it repeated, every day or so, for several weeks. She would scold herself for the act, but only AFTER she had released the hormonal pool that collected, spilling the fluids and basically abusing the brush handle. With the age difference between her and David (he was 54), the brush was not only more willing but also had ample stamina, and Cole's jock strap, well, it was often ready for her, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She couldn't avoid doing laundry.

Like most secrets, they come out.

So it was, the Thursday before a very important game. As usual, Cole came home, soaked in his sweat, and Kim was nearly a puppy waiting for him, as always, "You caught me doing laundry.". Never mind that she waited to see his car coming up the driveway before doing so. This time, the coach had worked them "extra hard"--the" big game was Saturday, so they'd have a day down. As usual, Kim found the garment warm, wet, and ready, as was she.

"Where are you off to tonight, Cole? You just got home."

"I know, Mom, but I have to head back to the school. My science project isn't complete, and it's due tomorrow. I won't be late."

Kim did the math. With Chloe out with her dad at the basketball game, she'd have at least 2, maybe 3 hours to herself.

"Drop 'em, stud.".

Cole dropped his clothes onto the piles in front of her and again departed, closing the door and the light behind him. Kim knew the routine. She found the light, found the jockstrap, and again inhaled his essence. Shutting off the light and leaning into the clothes pile, she unrobed, lay back, and began what had become a regular porno session in her head with her son.

Several minutes into her self-pleasure, with his jockstrap stuffed into her mouth and her sucking the musk from it, with her fingers strumming rhythmically over her clit, her legs widely spread, naked and flushed, her breasts squeezed tightly up in between the space of her arms, one hand eagerly tended to her clit while the other probed her dripping cunt.

Kim knew her body oh so well. In her head, she was gently bobbing up and down on what was now a solid 8" of Cole's cock, edging herself ever so closer. Just a few more strokes in and out, the brush handle now her very best of friends, and a few more surges through her clit and she'd be there. She felt Cole's balls tighten, licked from the round bottom to the top, and effortlessly glided her smooth lips to accept the swelling girth. She could taste his precum, and with her head thrown back and her eyes closed, at the peak of her first orgasmic tipping point, the improbable happened.

The door opened.

The problem is, Kim had already launched. Her orgasm swept over her, heating her body to a deep red as her vaginal contractions pulsed over the brush handle. The noise and light forced her brain to recognize the aberration, and lifting her head, she saw Cole in the doorway, one hand on the door handle, the other holding a sock.

His eyes were saucers in his head. Kim, for her part, tried to speak, but with a jock strap stuffed in your mouth, it was unintelligible at best and only drew attention to her situation. The largest wave hit her just as she was going to spit it out, and instead of doing so, her jaw dropped open, the white fabric falling to the side as she cringed and threw her head back with a long, drawn-out groan.

NOW Cole could understand her words.

"Oh, fuck....Cole...fuck......baby.....OH....MY....GAAAAAWWWWWWDDDD.".

Her vaginal walls were spasming in long, luscious waves as her fluids amply coated them. Her nipples were dark, erect strawberries atop the red, flushed breasts pulled closely together by her arms. Her knees were high, spread widely open, thrusting her exposed pussy out and up. Her cuntal lips were deep red and formed a tight seal around the soft, rubbery intruder, bright pink and wet as they pulsed against it, drawing it in and out. Her darkened anal flower opened and closed softly with each wave. Cole saw it all--eyes wide open. She was sweating, lightly covered in a sheen that made it unbelievably, unbearably, well--sexual.

For his part, dressed in his shorts and his own T-shirt, Cole was silent as he took it all in, the start of his erection notwithstanding. It didn't escape Kim's view.

Listening to his own mother grunting, rutting on the laundry room floor, he immediately recognized the jock strap and put 2 + 2 together. His mother was getting off on him somehow.

Her breasts were heaving--ripe, swollen nipples on top of undulating globes of quiet flesh, sweaty themselves--and as his eyes traced down her arms, he saw the inflamed, swollen lips squeezing, then releasing the comb handle that she now pressed so far into her, it looked as though she was giving birth to a spiny echidna.

Kim couldn't get any air. If she could, she would have said something--anything--but her body wouldn't allow it. This had been so long coming (no pun intended) that she was soaked in the moment and frozen by the intensity. Even her feet flexed to clench the floor beneath them.

Cole noticed--the room smelled like sex.

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