Chapter 3
The sun was up and working several hours before I woke up.
Mom was much more exhausted than even she had felt, adrenaline fueling her body, until it wasn't, then the crash came, and she was slower to recover, so it was not difficult for me to slip out of bed without waking her. I had not jumped right up... I lay there thinking for quite a while wondering what really had happened to bring all of this on and where it was headed. Was it a runaway train destined to crash and burn, or could I really control it and guide it to take mom, and me, to someplace we both wanted to go?
I thought about waking her up to a good pussy licking, or a nice hard cock... (I was recovering and ready to go again) but in the end I decided that it wasn't a "honeymoon" so I did not have to spend every waking minute for the next couple of days fucking our brains out... I could relax and enjoy... figure out where I wanted to take this and see if mom really did just want to go along for the pleasure of the ride.
Getting up I realized that I had no clothes in "our" room... walking down the hall I remembered leaving the clothes we took off in the kitchen last night/early this morning, so I walked naked down stairs.
The clothes were there so I put my tee shirt and shorts on and picked up mom's robe from the pile on the floor. I remembered the puddle of pee, now dried, but in no less need of a good clean up, then remembered what I had thought about, using mom as a human mop. I sat at the table, thinking about how I could make that happen.
It would test how far she was willing to go right from the start. I had no doubt that her horizons would expand as we continued to push the boundaries and self imposed limits... but this would show me if she was committed to what she had started, or if she was seriously reconsidering...
I had never seen her wear anything like a tube top, so I would have to create something that I could wrap around, or across her tits to act as a mop head. She was too big to just tie a dish towel or hand towel around her and a bath towel was too unwieldy... I settled on an old flannel sheet that was set aside for rags.
Folded three times for thickness and absorbing capabilities, I cut it long enough to go around her front and connect in the back, leaving three strips on each side to be used as ties across her back, cinching it up. Then, because I did not have any nice soft silk rope, something I was going to have to rectify soon, I cut strips to be used as "ties."
Once I was done with these preparations I went back up stairs and left a note on my pillow telling her to braid her hair in one long center braid, wear the 3 inch heels I set out for her and nothing else and then join me, and maybe a couple of friends, for coffee in the kitchen. (I threw in the "friends" to see how she would react.)
Her robe hung over a kitchen chair, sitting drinking my third cup of bitter, life giving elixir, I waited, pondering the next few "adventures" I could, and would be willing to orchestrate.
One of my personal revelations was that I was not quite as "unattached" to my mom being "used and/or abused" by some other bastard... friend or stranger... I had to figure out how far I was willing to go to take her were she wanted to go. I was going to maybe have to get MY head and heart right.
Half an hour and the bottom of a fourth cup later and I heard her tentatively working her way down the stairs. She was trying to be quiet. She stopped and waited, probably listening to try and see if I was alone, or had, indeed invited company.
Indecision or just natural hesitation...?
I picked up an empty coffee cup and mine, then put them down almost, but not quite at the same time, pulled a chair out, scraping it against the floor and then said, "No... wait... she will be here soon..."
I heard her gasp, then imagined her setting herself to do what I told her to do... what she said she would do, then she came around the corner, tits bouncing, nipples hard, naked as could be.
"Good morning Matth..."
She stopped dead in her tracks, totally surprised that it was only me sitting there.
The build up of adrenaline, to get up the courage to appear naked in front of "Godonlyknewwho" and then the resulting dump just about had her on the floor. She flushed, gasped, sagged, held on to the back of a chair, looked around quickly to make sure, then said, "You bastard!"
"You would know that better than I..."
I stood up, helped her into the chair, then turned and got her a cup of coffee.
She was still a bit shaky as she took the first few sips and cussed me, chuckling with relief.
"So that went well..."
She looked knives at me.
"You came down... you did not "ring the bell..." you pushed yourself past your comfort zone."
"No shit! Way, way past!"
"I'll bet your soaking wet right now."
She looked over the rim of the cup at me.
"Show me how wet your pussy is mom... how wet did it make you thinking you were going to have unknown eyes on you naked and that I might tell you to do something forbidden, nasty, to whomever it might be sitting here with me."
"This is not going to be as easy as I thought it would be..." she said as she put her cup down, blushed at me as she slipped a hand down and ran fingers across her cunt lips."
"Ohhh fuck Matthew... so wet... so sensitive. We are really going to do this aren't we?"
She put her elbow on the table, right next to a tit that was resting there. Her fingers glistening in the late morning sunlight.
"Yes mom... we really are... and your next adventure starts... now,
Clean your fingers off Mary and then stand up next to the sink."
She licked, then sucked her fingers clean of pussy, then stood up, jiggling her tits at me... not horrible ostentatiously... but obvious enough for me not to miss it.
She smiled and went over to the counter by the sink. I followed her turned her to face the counter and told her to raise her arms and stand still.
I pulled my improvised "mop head" out of the adjacent cupboard and wrapped it around her front, making sure her tits were well encased, then tied the ties behind her back, cinching them up to make sure that nothing fell out or came loose.
"What is..." she began to ask as I brought it out.
My palm slapped her bare ass and made her jump and yelp.
"Be quiet. Tools don't talk or ask questions... they exist to serve. Stand still and do as you are told."
Once the top was in place and secure, I brought her arms down and pulled her wrists behind her back. One tie to hold her wrists, one tie to bring her elbows behind her and close, not touching... and a third, tied into her braid, and into her arm restraints, pulling her head back slightly to keep it up off of the floor when I put her to work.
Once secured, I "adjusted" her tits, pinching her nipples, bouncing her breasts in my hands. Then, when satisfied with the results, I turned on the water and with the plate spray nozzle, wet the flannel wrapping her tits. She jumped and wiggled.
"What are you doing? Oh my god!"
Without answering I dropped the sprayer, slapped the handle to turn the water off then grabbed her by the flannel, right between her breasts and pulled her to the table, and forcefully planted her face down. Her back was now severely arched, between the tie in her hair and her arms pulled back, but that was a good thing, as that stuck her ass up and out, with no way to tuck it away from what was coming.
"Matt! Matthew!"
The first one fell. The slap was loud, the hand print was red and her scream was real. The second and third were carbon copies... by the 4th one, she was catching on that I was not going to answer her. She stifled her outcries... and the subsequent swats were less harsh, until, after 10, she was able to bear up silently.
I pulled her upright. Grabbed both tits and squeezed, several times, then set her back in front of the sink then sprayed her again. It wasn't much, but it was a message.
Using her braid this time, I steered her over to the dried puddle and said, "Kneel down."
Sobbing quietly, mom lowered herself, with my help, until she knelt about a foot away from the edge. Her face was blotchy and tear stained.
"Last night you pissed all over the floor... now it is time for you to clean it up. You are the wet mop." I stripped off my shirt then dropped my shorts. My cock sprang forth much the same as it had earlier this morning... Mom's eyes got wide. "I am going to help you... I will be the mop handle."
I lowered her down so that her flannel covered tits were on the dried puddle, weight forward, back arched, ass up in the air.
I put two fingers in her pussy, found it as wet as my cock was hard... (who knew spanking your mom would get a dick so hard, or that being spanked by your son, would get a pussy so wet...)
"Get busy... do a good job, we don't want to have to do it a second time."
Mom moaned loudly when her weight first settled on her tits. The wet flannel re-hydrated the piss and pussy juice puddle, also soaking it up as she moved in response to my fingers slipping rapidly in and out of her cunt.
Pulling them out, I wiped my fingers on her flank as I moved behind her. What a beautiful sight it was... her wet lips spread wide, droplets of girl juice ran down her inner thighs.
She struggled to move her tits on the floor, her weight bearing down on them the way it was, and me, now slapping her pussy, granted lightly, with my hard-on.
I slipped the head in, then with both hands on her hips, I pulled her back onto my cock.
"Uhgggg! Uhgggg! Uhgggg!" she moaned as I pushed her down the shaft, putting weight on her tits, then pulled her back up the shaft, shifting the weight off of her breasts.
Her pussy was burning up with pleasure filled lust, her breasts where being punished, pushing across the floor, back and forth... my cock was quickly building pressure to the point of no return... I could not believe how hot this situation made me.
I buried myself deep in her body and my balls convulsed. No sooner did they empty, than my bladder, which I had been trying to ignore, decided to sound the alarm and let me know that I had very little time left before I could no longer hold all of the coffee I had been drinking this morning.
For the second time in as many days, I picked mom up and carried her up stairs. To her credit, other than a grunt or groan, she stayed quiet... fear of another spanking or immersion in her role as mop... who could know.
