The following week Dad reverted to day shift, which means that I set the table and cut the roast or prepare what is needed with Mum, so everything is ready when he comes in the door.
Dad walks in the back door and sets his lunch pail down. He looks a bit tired, but greets us both; Mum gets her usual peck on the lips.
Nothing is different this Tuesday, than on any other day. The three of us chat about the news of the day, work, school or otherwise. Following supper, Mum prepares Dad's lunch and sets everything in the fridge for him, while he and I wash and dry the dishes.
Out of the blue, Mum says, "Timmy, George and Tara are visiting tonight. How about you find your darts and see if any of the boys are up for a match, down at the Thistle. Dad looks to me and then toward Mum.
"Sure, Mum," he says, looking a bit more weary. "I'm sure that Smitty will want a challenge." We finish tidying up, and Dad says to me, "Are you up for a pint and a game, son?"
Before his words are finished, Mum interjects, "Derek is staying back to greet the Johnsons." Dad looks inquisitive but says nothing. We share a glance, but soon he is away to get out his darts.
I am sat with Mum at the table chatting, when Dad walks in to the kitchen, takes his cap from the peg next to the door and dons it. He steps toward Mum and gives her a kiss on the cheek. He nods to me and says, "Enjoy your visit," straight faced, and turns to the door.
As Dad steps through the doorway, Mum says, "No need to be back before midnight."
Dad looks back, stopped in his tracks and says, "But, I have work... erm, yes, Mum."
Before he has the door closed behind him, Mum calls out to him, "I might have a present for you when you get in." He looks back to see her broad grin, and he tips his cap with a faint smile, as he shuts the door behind him.
A few minutes later, Mum says, "How about you help me make up my bed," and gets up without waiting for a reply.
I follow her to their bedroom and without notice, Mum drops her sweatpants and folds them over one of two dining chairs set near the bed. Her white thong strap is well hidden between her full, dimpled ass cheeks, and Mum raises her jumper over her head, revealing her bare back.
I wait by the door while she changes in front of me, turning around as she slips a long, cotton nightdress over her head. It gets hung up on Mum's humungous boobs. Her thong has the smallest triangle on the front panel, barely seen beneath the folds below her navel, and disappearing again between her flabby thighs.
Mum hauls the cotton past her tits and tucks the huge pair in place, letting the cloth fall past her rotund belly and down to the tops of her knees.
"Take a side, and lets get these sheets changed," she says, while removing one of the pillowcases. I take the blankets off and set them on one of the chairs, and we soon have new sheets and cases in place. Once the blankets were neatly set, Mum and I roll them, and the top sheet, all the way to the foot of the bed.
Mum tugs up the mattress corner, and pulls out a long strap with Velcro on it, from beneath the mattress. She nods to me, then reaches for another strap at the lower corner on her side.
I follow suit, until all four straps lie on top of the fitted sheets. Mum says, "The Johnsons will be here in five minutes. How about you get rid of those clothes and get in to bed for me." I think it a bit odd that we wouldn't greet them at the door, but know that Mum has her own way of getting things done.
I peel off my jeans and tee, and then step out of my Jockeys, naked as a jaybird. Mum sizes me up and says, "That is a nice dick, Derek," and rounds the bed to fondle it. Mum uses one hand to cradle my balls, weighing each tender pill. Her fingers tease the auburn curls of my sack, while her other hand wraps fingers and thumb around my veiny shaft. Its shape straightens and hardens with every heartbeat; Mum's smooth digits wander from base to tip.
Her eyes never leave her prize, and I decide that the gigantic breasts with their swollen nipples pressed into the cotton, are in need of attention. I mash them together, amazed at what must be forty pounds of milky flesh. My thumbs strum the knobby nipples, flicking up and down over the erect nubs through the cotton.
Mum points to the middle of the bed and I lay down where she indicates. She dutifully walks from corner to corner, placing each strap around a wrist or an ankle, until I am securely bound in place. I move my limbs to test their limits; no more than two or so inches of play for any arm or leg. My cock softens, our eyes meet; we smile together.
The doorbell rings at that moment, and Mum bends over the bed to look at me sincerely. "Let's understand something," she says, in a matter-of-fact tone, "The Johnsons know what they are here for tonight, and so just enjoy being the center of attention. Okay, Derek?"
"Yes, Mum," I reply, looking down at my flaccid cock lain prone along my belly, a tendril of precum extends from piss slit to the firm muscle of my stomach. She leaves the room to answer the door, and I feel ready for quite a night.
Voices speak softly from the front hall, and within a few minutes, the three of them walk into the bedroom, led by Mrs. Johnson.
Her eyes light up at the sight of my naked body on display, my cock having lost most of its blood supply. "Oh, VERY nice," she says, stepping to one side, "Look Georgie, the boy is already bigger than you and he hasn't started to grow yet."
Her husband enters next, and sees me straight away. I do not forget my manners, even in this odd setting. "Good evening vicar, and Mrs. Johnson," I offer, noticing the vicar unable to take his eyes from my flaccid dick. It was as though he were sizing up how big it might become. Mum appears behind them, as the vicar begins to speak.
"Nice to see you, my young boy. But for tonight, let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? You may call us George and Tara for the time being."
The mid-fortyish man surveys my naked, hairy, and manly body, while his hands remain in the pockets of his black, button-down cassock. The vicar's furrowed brow only serves to accentuate his widow's peak. His face is thin and gaunt, but for a well-trimmed goatee of black; only a few bristles of gray to be found. No doubt, from rumors, he is fondling himself at the sight of my youthful maleness.
Mrs. Johnson is wearing a simple, purple skirt, and lavender blouse without stockings, and a pair of pumps. Her lipstick is much more red and glossy than one might expect from a respected wife of clergy - likely only worn for occasions such as this.
Mom stands at the foot of the bed, a look of pride in her eyes. "Tara, would you like to take the lead here?" Tara shudders slightly at the debauchery that was to ensue, and begins unbuttoning her blouse.
"George, be a good boy and have a seat," Mum says firmly. George steps to the two chairs, one with Mum's sweats hung over it, and is sat in full view of the bed.
Beneath the lavender blouse, Tara has a similar shaded lace bra, which she quickly sheds, unclasping the catch between the small cups. Around Tara's neck is a simple gold chain, with a bauble on it. "Apparently, this isn't the first time you've seen these," she says, dropping the bra free of her barely mounded breasts. I blush at having been tattled on for my voyeuristic actions, yet my cock begins to respond to her nakedness.
Mom steps behind Tara and pulls at the zipper on the woman's left hip, and slides Tara's skirt to the floor. I look to the vicar, hands still in his pockets, but moving all around his junk, clearly his excitement is building.
Tara wears a cute, lacy pair of knickers, red to match her lipstick. Mom slides her hands into the elastic at each of Tara's hips, and shucks the filmy garment to the floor. When Tara steps from them, Mum reaches down, lifts the skimpy panties up, and lays them across my nose and mouth. Tara's heady scent is enough to trigger even more motion in my yet untouched cock.
I gaze at Tara's jet black, untrimmed curls that shroud the lips of her vulva. Mum says, into her ear, "You are welcome to explore a bit," and Tara smiles at me, approaching the bedside.
Her hands travel along my left leg, her diminutive fingers tickling my leg hair. Tara eyes my cock as it reacts to her touch, ascending a few degrees with every heartbeat. Tara's child-like hand makes my girth look even greater than its hefty size. Her black nipples hang from the white inverted pyramids of Tara's barely budding breasts, while the demure woman plays with my burgeoning young cock.
While Tara teases my groin, each hand skims along the inside of a thigh, meeting at my ball sack. Mum stands next to the bed, enjoying her friend's delight in cuddling up to Mum's grown son. George watches intently while his wife takes hold of my erection. My cock is at full staff as her hands begin to jack me off. Tara uses a thumb to wipe off a pool of precum from my piss hole and smears it across the tip of her tongue, tasting its salty flavor.
Mum beckons the vicar, "George, stand up and move to the bed," and George obeys without question.
Mum looks at me and says, "Derek, do you notice anything unusual about little Georgie here?" I look him up and down but I don't see anything of note.
"No, Mum. What is it?" Meanwhile Tara has added her mouth to her handwork, and my cock is fully engorged. I contain myself to the slightest moan as this man's wife openly fellates me in his presence.
"Wouldn't you expect to see a tent in the vicar's cassock? He has been playing with himself since he got in the room, and his wife has just put your cock in her mouth."
I guess that I had expected that George was holding onto his cock so as not to allow it to bulge against the cloth. Mum stands behind the now crimson priest, and whispers in the man's ear, "Show the boy."
