Helping Mom

Dad's Hunting Trip

Marcy Cee sat quietly in her SUV, parked in their driveway, desperately trying to think of something she could say to Mark to make him feel better. She'd just returned from taking Don, her husband, and John, her oldest son, to the airport. They'd just departed for a month long hunting and fishing trip to Alaska. Mark, her youngest son, was devastated that he hadn't been asked to go, for the date coincided with his first week in college.

"I can start a week late," he'd pleaded.

"Not this time, son," her husband had said, "You need to be here to start your first semester in college. Don't worry though, John and I'll bring home the meat."

That was his justification for going on this trip. Bring home the meat. If they brought home a ton of meat it would only have cost them eight dollars a pound. She flipped her head, pushing her long blond hair back over her ears as she did, exasperated, but still not knowing how to approach Mark's feelings. Opening the door, she slid her long, tanned legs to the ground, and slammed the door. That might at least let Mark know she was home.

She walked toward the door, the length of her well-toned legs accentuated by the shortness of the cut-offs she'd worn this morning. Her sleeveless white blouse was a lovely contrast to the tan of her arms. The bra, constraining the bouncing globes of her breasts, could be plainly seen. She opened the kitchen door and went inside.

"Mark, honey," I'm home she yelled up the stairs. "How about some breakfast? C'mon down, I'll make French toast and link sausage." His favorite breakfast, she thought, which may get him into at least a decent mood. She rattled around in the kitchen, setting a bowl on the counter for the eggs, and got out the grill and plugged it in, turning the heat to high. Setting a loaf of bread on the counter, next to the eggs, she went to the fridge and got out the link sausage and butter.

"Damn," she muttered to herself, "syrup's on the top shelf again." The stool she stood on was old, and wobbly. The syrup just out of her reach. One more try, she thought, then I'll get Mark to get it down. She stretched. The stool tipped. She fell, both hands landing palms down on the red-hot grill. Her screech echoed throughout the house.

Mark bounded down the stairs, taking them three or four at a time.

"What's wrong Mom? What happened?"

She held out her burned hands toward him.

"I slipped and landed on the grill." Tears streamed from her eyes.

He quickly helped her up, started cold water running in the sink, and held her hands under it for a few seconds. "Keep them under the cold water for a few more minutes," he said, "I'll get some ice and a towel."

It was only a second before he returned with the ice and towel. Wrapping the ice in the wet towel, he then wrapped her hands inside it.

"C'mon," he said, "I'm taking you to the hospital. It's only a few blocks away and I can drive you there."

They rushed to the car and he drove her to the emergency room.

Two hours later, coming out of the hospital, Marcy was weak-kneed and staggering slightly. The pain medication the doctor had given her was plainly working.

"I feel like a mummy," she giggled, holding out both hands, covered with bandages and wrapped with gauze clear above her wrist. "The doctor said they'd have been a lot worse if you hadn't put ice on them right away."

She'd still received some bad third degree burns, but most of the burns were just second degree. They were going to keep her in the hospital for a few days, but she'd told them that she could get along just fine at home, with his help.

"You will help me, won't you Mark?"

"Of course, Mom. We'll manage just fine." He didn't realize what he was saying.

When they'd arrived home, he'd helped her into the house, got her settled on the couch, then went to clean up the mess they'd made in the kitchen.

"Guess we'd best get something to eat, hadn't we, Mom?" Mark called from the kitchen. "Still want French toast and sausage?"

"That sounds great, hon." She'd called back.

She could hear Mark banging around in the kitchen, cleaning up and preparing breakfast. It wasn't long before he carried in a tray and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"I didn't know how to make coffee, so I just brought a glass of orange juice. Hope that's okay."

"That'll be fine, hon." she said, straightening up on the couch and reaching for her fork. It slipped through her heavily bandaged hands and fell on the floor. She reached for it, but couldn't pick it up. The doctor had put something in the bandages so she couldn't bend her fingers.

"Mark, we've got a problem. I can't bend my fingers to grip anything. I guess you're going to have to feed me. Do you mind."

"Of course not, Mom," he replied, coming over and cutting the French toast into pieces. He fed her, piece by piece, until she'd finished it, then held up a sausage between his fingers. She took it between pursed lips, sucking it right out of his fingers into her mouth. He watched in rapt attention. When she'd finished that one, he handed her another. This time her tongue came from between her full, luscious lips, licking the sausage seductively, before letting it slide between her parted lips.

"What's the matter, baby? Haven't you seen anyone suck a sausage before?" Her eyes twinkled with suppressed merriment. The medication had really taken hold.

"Sure, Mom," he said, grinning, "but not quite like that." He got up, picked up the dishes, and carried them to the kitchen. "I'll clean up here, then I'm going to go for a run. Okay?"

"Sure, baby, that'll be fine." Her eyes followed him as he moved, noticing the growing bulge in the front of his sweats. "Don't stay away too long, I may need you to help me do something."

He finished cleaning the kitchen, put on a pair of running shoes, then paused as he was going out the door. "I won't be gone long, Mom. You gonna be okay?"

She smiled at him. "I'll be fine, hon. Go for your run. I'll be here when you get back."

She watched as he left, then settling back on the couch, closed her eyes, and thought about what had happened this morning.

"At least," she thought, "it took his mind off the hunting trip."

A wry smile played across her lips. It was a hell-of-a-way to get him thinking about something else. Her thoughts drifted to last night and the hot, steamy sex she and Don had indulged in before he left. It had been good, but still left her hornier than hell. And him gone for a month, and her with her hands bandaged. Can't even do myself. The thoughts spread warmth through her groin and her nipples hardened with desire.

"Settle yourself down, girl," she admonished herself, "your in for a long, dry month."

The warm feeling in her groin grew to a sudden urgency.

"Damn it," she muttered, "I've got to go pee, and no way in hell I'm ever going to be able to undo these damn pants."

She sat there squirming on the couch, waiting for Mark to come home. Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Suddenly she realized she not only had to pee, she need to have a bowel movement too. She paced between the windows, looking out each one as she passed, looking for Mark to help her. She stopped. Would Mark help her? Would it embarrass him to much? If she asked him really nice, she was sure he would help. Even if it embarrassed him. She heard him running up the drive and hurried toward the door as he came in.

"Mark! You've got to help me! I've got to go to the bathroom and can't get my pants unbuttoned or down. Please help me." She turned and started for the bathroom, Mark right behind her. She'd have laughed if it hadn't been so serious.

Standing in front of the toilet she turned to Mark. "Undo my pants and pull them and my panties down so I can go. Hurry! Please! Don't be embarrassed. Please help me."

He fumbled at the buttons on her pants till he got them undone, then with one big shove pushed them down past her knees. She sat down on the toilet immediately, the water jetting from her in a yellow stream, splashing into the bowl with wanton glee. Mark stood staring as he watched his mother pee, then turning a bright scarlet, turned and started to leave.

"Don't leave yet," Marcy said, smiling thankfully up at him, "I'm going to need some help when I get finished too." She looked up at him, at his flushed cheeks, and the bulge that was back in the front of his sweats. He was staring, as if mesmerized, at the hairy juncture between her thighs, his breathing coming in short gasps, and not from the running.

"Wha....wha....what you want me to do?"

"You'll have to wipe me, when I'm finished," she said smiling, holding her bandaged hands toward him, "don't be shy. I'll tell you what to do."

When she'd finished she looked up at him. "Come kneel here between my legs." she spread her legs wide. "Fold some toilet paper into a nice pad and pat my pussy to get the pee of the hairs, then go on back and wipe my butt. Like you do your own, except you come from back to front."

He kneeled before her, his face flushed and hand shaking. He made a pad of the paper, then reached gingerly down between her legs and patted softly the damp mass of curly hair.

"Harder," she said, a catch in her voice, "you need to rub a little harder." He did, feeling his finger slip between the swollen lips of her pussy. She let him stay there for a long moment before saying, "Now wipe my ass." He put his free hand on her naked thigh, balancing as he leaned forward, and wiped across her anus. She caught her breath as he wiped, his finger entering her anus just the tiniest bit. He dropped the paper into the bowl and flushed the toilet, but kept kneeling there, one hand on her naked thigh, his eyes locked on her hairy pussy.

She scooted forward on the toilet seat, spreading her legs even wider, "What? You've never seen one of these before?"

His voice broke as he answered, "Just in pictures. They're a lot nicer in real life."

She smiled at him, tenderly, "You'll probably be seeing a lot more of mine before we get my hands healed." She giggled, "And probably a whole lot more. Want to help me get ready for bed. Might as well put on my nightgown now. I don't have a hell-uv-a-lot left to take off."

Mark stood up in front of her, the bulge in his sweats throbbing with each beat of his heart.

"Don't be embarrassed about that," she said, brushing her heavily bandaged hands across the front of his sweats, "It's just natural. Shows you're growing up and becoming a man. Go bring me a nightgown from my bedroom, would you please."

"Sure, which one do you want?"

"I don't care. You pick one."

Marcy watched as he left the room, his slender body rippling with suppressed energy. She gasped when he brought back the nightgown. She'd supposed he'd bring back the old flannel granny that was hanging behind the door, but he'd came back with the one she'd wore last night. The one that was to impress her husband on what he was missing while he was away. It was silk, almost transparent, mid-thigh, cut low in the back, with a string tie that tied behind the neck. It left little to the imagination.

Her face was pink as she looked up at him, questioningly.

"You said take my pick," he said, grinning impishly.

"So I did," she said, grinning back at him, "but I thought you'd bring something back a little more demur. Well, let's get it on, then. You're going to have to take off my blouse and bra."

He knelt again between her legs and fumbled the buttons on her blouse undone, then carefully guided her arms and hands through the armhole, tossing the blouse onto the dirty clothes hamper. He stood up then, pausing for a moment to admire the globes that almost burst out of their constraint, leaning over her shoulder, reaching for the clasp of her bra, struggling to get the snaps loose, the bulge in his sweats only inches from her face. Finally the snaps came undone, the loosened bra falling forward on her shoulders, her breasts bouncing free. He guided the straps gently over her hands, then threw the bra into the pile with the blouse. He stepped back, admiring the breasts his mother proudly displayed.

"Good Lord, Mom," he breathed, almost reverently, "they're beautiful. So perfect."

And they were. Beautiful, symmetric globes, tipped with silver dollar sized aureole, the nipples jutting ever higher as they became more erect. They lifted and fell rapidly, to match her breathing.

"C'mon, help me get this gown on. I feel silly being the only one naked."

"I could take of my sweats," he said, only half joking.

"I don't think so, not now." she smiled playfully at him.

He helped her put the gown on, tied the strings behind her neck, then stepping back, reached out his hand for her, drawing her to her feet.

She spun around, modeling the nightgown for him. Smiling wickedly from under lowered lashes. "Now don't you wish you'd brought the granny?"

"No way!" he murmured, "No way."

They went into the living room and turned on the TV. She lay down on the couch again, spreading the nightgown over her legs as far as it would go. They watched a movie and finally Mark said, "It's almost supper time. Shall we order a pizza?"

"Sounds good to me. It's almost time for those pills the doctor gave me. My hands are starting to hurt again."

Mark called in a pizza, then brought the pills and a glass of water for his mother. She sat up on the couch as he placed the pills between her parted lips, then held the glass of water while she drank.

"Thanks," she sighed softly, lying back down on the couch. As she twisted, trying to get comfortable, one breast popped out of the gown, and the gown hiked higher on her hips. She didn't seem to notice.

Mark sat on the recliner, and leaned back. From his vantage-point he could almost see underneath the edge of the short nightgown. One breast was in plain view, the other completely covered. Mark's hand slipped inside his sweats, slowly stroking his aching hard-on. He watched as his mother twisted in her sleep, finally raising one leg, bent at the knee and leaned it against the back of the couch. Her gown fell loosely about her waist, her pussy was bare, open to Mark's lavacious stare.

The doorbell rang. His mother stirred in her slumber, the medication had really zonked her. Mark hurried to the door, paid the pizza man, and brought the pizza back to the coffee table.

"Mom .... Mom.... are you okay? The pizza guy brought the pizza."

She stirred briefly, then settled back on the couch. Mark moved around beside her, and sat on the edge of the couch. His hand resting on her bare belly. She stirred again, at his touch, but then again seemed to drift off to sleep. He moved his hand lower, into the hair covering her sweet slit. She made no move. He bent, his mouth covering the nipple that was exposed, sucking, licking, nibbling on her erect nipple. She seemed to moan softly at his touch. His finger slid gently inside the folds of flesh, surprised at the heat and moisture there. His lips kept worrying her breast, kissing, sucking, and exploring. His finger moved deeper, finding the entrance of her hot tunnel and plunged inside as far as it would go. She made a sighing sound, her hips twisted upward toward the searching finger. He withdrew, running his fingers up and down the length of her slit, gathering the hot sticky fluid, till again he came to the entrance of her hole. This time he plunged two fingers in. She let out an audible gasp, he withdrew, only to plunge them in once again. Her gasp this time was a soft moan. His thumb found the lump at the top of her slit and began rubbing it, slowly at first, then faster and harder. His fingers kept up their game of enter, withdraw...enter, withdraw. Her breathing was becoming labored, her hips wildly gyrating, searching for release. Suddenly her body stiffened, her hips thrust wildly at the air, her back arched, a long slow moan escaped her barely parted lips, followed by two or three soft ohhh ohhh ohhhs, then she sank slowly back onto the couch. Mark sat there beside her, his hand still planted firmly over her pussy, his fingers gently stirring.

“Mom... Mom...You okay?" he asked, reaching for her hand. "Get up, the pizza man brought the pizza." He pulled her to a sitting position, before removing his hand from between her legs. She swayed groggily, resting one bandaged hand on his shoulder.

"I must have dozed off. But I had a marvelous dream. Maybe I'll tell you about it tomorrow." She looked at the pizza, then continued. "I'm not very hungry right now. Let me drink this drink, then you can help me to bed. Okay?"

He nodded, holding the drink up to her while she guzzled it down, then helping her up, walked her to her bedroom. The bed hadn't been made from last night so he helped her into it, then covered her with a sheet.

"I'm going to take a shower now," he told her, "will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine, baby. Thank you for helping so much today. I don't know what I've had done without you."

Marcy lay back on the bed, listening as Mark moved around the house, then suddenly she could hear the shower running. The running water made her realize she needed to pee again.

"Damn, always something," she muttered to herself, getting up from the bed and walking to the door of the bedroom. She stepped into the darkened hall, walking swiftly toward the sliver of light that peeped through the slight opening in the bathroom door.

"At least he didn't lock the door," she thought, as she hurried down the hall, hiking her gown above her waist and holding it so there would be no hindrance when she sat down. "I'll just slip in and pee and out again. He won't even know I'm there."

She stopped before the door for an instant, the water was still running loudly, the sound made the pain in her bladder even stronger. Opening the door, she quickly stepped into the room, sitting down on the toilet as she did. Her stream splashed noisily into the water as she swung the door closed. Her jaw dropped open in shocked amazement. In front of her, leaning against the clothes hamper was Mark, stark naked. He held his throbbing cock in his pistoning hand, its gorged purple head glistening with precum.

He took a step toward her, his hand still pumping the turgid member, pointing it right at her.

"Oh shi... ohhh mom ... can't stop...can’t stop...sorry." Then his creamy, white cum erupted from the head of his cock, spraying out in voluminous spurts, the first of which hit her square in the face. The second landed on her breasts and the rest he sprayed across her belly, down to the short curly hair covering her pussy. He stood there for what seemed an hour, but could have only been a few seconds, before blurting out, "Ohhh shit, mom ...I'm sorry...I just couldn't stop...I'm so sorry," before bursting out the door and running to his room.

She sat there in stunned silence for a few long moments. The spurt that had hit her in the face ran down across her lips and she unconsciously ran her tongue out to taste it. Mmmm good, she thought, at least as good as his Dad's, a smile broke across her face as she thought of the look on his face as his sperm covered her.

"Mark,...Mark, honey...it wasn't your fault. I should have knocked." She didn't know if he could hear her through his closed door. She reached for a towel, and as good as she could, wiped the dripping cum from her face and body. Then got up and walked to his door. She knocked, but there was no answer.

"Mark, baby...it's okay. It wasn't your fault." She spoke to the door. " I've asked a lot of you today and should have known how worked up you'd get. I should have knocked before coming in the bathroom, but thought I could just sneak in while you were showering and you'd never know I'd been there. That sure didn't work," she finished giggling.