Necessary Sacrifices

The summer after I turned 18, it became apparent that my mother's house grown too small to contain both me and mom's new boyfriend Max. Following an angry exchange over the breakfast table, I vowed to move out within the week. I would have too, were it not for a phone call from my Aunt Karen, later that same day.

"Mom's not home," I informed Aunt Karen, "She's at work"

"Good," Karen replied. "I didn't call my baby sis. I called to talk to my favorite nephew. I wanted to ask you something dear."

"What's that Aunt Karen?" I wondered.

"I wanted to ask you what the hell is going on up there," she said is a measured but forceful tone. "Ann called me on the way into work, asked for help with an apartment deposit for you."

Aunt Karen had married well and moved south to Florida; she'd helped mom a number of times when money was tight.

"I don't mind helping," Karen explained, "In fact I was planning to pay your college tuition in the fall, but I thought you were going to live at home."

"I thought so too," I told her. I related the events of the past few months, with emphasis on the past 24 hours.

"Hmmm. It does sound my little sister is making a mess of things," replied Aunt Karen. "I may have to pay a visit. But I want you to promise me something honey: under no circumstance are you to move out and leave your mom alone - not until I have a chance to think this over."

"OK," I agreed, "But please think of something in the next week, because I don't think I'm going to win the next stare down."

"No worries hon'," Karen assured. "There'll be no ass-kicking unless I'm doing it. Incidentally, how well do you remember your father?"

"Not very well," I admitted. "I wasn't very old when he moved out. He was always angry, kind of a jerk."

"Your father wasn't a jerk," Aunt Karen corrected. "He was an asshole."

"I see," I answered, not sure that I did but knowing better than to interrupt Aunt Karen in mid-thought.

"There's more you should know," she said. "A lot more really, but since time is short we'll leave it at this. Your father, I am sorry to say, was a complete asshole. Your mother has a talent for attracting assholes. She deserves better of course, but there was only one man that ever really treated your mom the way she - oh my, I'm rambling. That's a story for another time too. Suffice it to say that you and I need to rescue your mom from the new asshole that has intruded into her life. Can I count on you Justin?"

"Yes ma'am," I said in agreement.

"Good," Aunt Karen said. "Are on you on a cordless phone?"

I answered that I was.

"Then I want you to go upstairs to your mother's bedroom, look through her nightstand, and tell me what you find."

"Aunt Karen," I protested. "I can't invade her privacy."

"Snooping is a sisterly prerogative and I hereby deputize you," Karen assured me. "Sometimes we have to make necessary sacrifices for the people we love."

At Aunt Karen's behest, I examined and reported the contents of my mother's bedside stand. The contents ranged from mundane (makeup and Tylenol) to ambiguous (a jar of Vaseline and a pair of panties) to erotic (a six inch flesh-tone vibrator, a rubber phallus, a pair of steel handcuffs, and a book entitled "Whips and Kisses").

"Naughty girl!" remarked Karen. "And up to her old tricks. Now have a look in her closet."

The back section of the closet held a few further surprises, including a black leather bustier, and a French maid outfit. More curious items were piled on the floor of the closet: fishnet stockings, a riding crop, black leather boots, a ping pong paddle with holes drilled in it, and a host of leather and metal objects that I couldn't identify.

"I should have known," Karen concluded after I finished describing the inventory. "A pussy never changes her spots."

She paused for a moment to rest from her mixing of metaphors.

"This must seem rather strange to you Justin," Karen said. "But I don't suppose you're so naive that I have to explain why your mother has these things in her bedroom?"

"No auntie," I answered. "I've heard about whips and chains."

"Your mom has always been wanted a strong man to care for her, a dominant man," Karen elaborated. "There's a difference though, between a dominant and a bully, as big as the difference between a penis and an asshole. Your mom, bless her heart, seems to struggle with that concept. You and I may have to stage an intervention."

"For now, I think it best that Ann doesn't learn about our snooping. Please make sure you leave you're her room exactly as you found it dear. I have some arrangements to make on my end, but look for me in a day or two. You have my cell number, so keep me posted if anything new develops, especially if the Asshole rears his ugly sphincter."

--

After hanging up the phone and carefully returning each item to its place in mother's room, one object remained in my hand: the flesh-tone vibrator. It was about six inches in length and cylindrical, narrowing to a conical rubbery point on one end. Perhaps because I had heard it in use the previous night, this object fascinated me more than the others.

I stared at the tip, realizing that that tiny piece of rubber had been in contact with the most intimate parts of my mother's anatomy only hours earlier. I raised the vibrator to my nose and sniffed. Sure enough a musky scent wafted through my flaring nostrils. I searched my memory, trying to recall if had smelt this scent before. My thumb snapped the switch at the base of the vibrator into the 'on' position. Instantly, it began to hum at a familiar pitch, and the pink phallus shook in my hand with surprising force.

My thoughts shifted from the buzzing vibrator to my own body. I was suddenly acutely aware of the erection in my pants. It was not a slow gradual stiffening induced by conscious stroking and kneading of my cock with my hands. It was a full erection, engorged and urgent, appearing without effort and straining against the fabric of my jeans.

I ran, not walked, from mom's room to mine, buzzing vibrator in hand. Once inside, I hurriedly pulled off my jeans and briefs and clambered onto my bed, not bothering to remove my t-shirt or socks. I quickly stroked my cock with my right hand, rubbing pre-cum along the length of my rigid shaft.

Glancing at the humming vibrator in my left hand, a wicked thought sprung into my mind. This tiny object had touched my mother's private places. Dare I say it? Her pussy.

"Her pussy," I said aloud to myself.

Yes, my mother had a pussy: a pussy that smelt like the vibrator in my hand; a pussy that throbbed like my cock; a warm, moist pussy that ached for pleasure.

I touched the vibrator to the underside of my cock. Oooh, it felt nice, different from the strokes of my hand. Electric and unpredictable, like the touch of a stranger's hand.

Had this vibrator slid along the folds of my mother's labia? I slid it along the length of my cock. Had this I passed the vibrator stimulated my mother's mons? I rubbed against the underside of my balls. Had this vibrator circled my mother's clit? I groaned with pleasured as I circled it across the front of my cock near the glans. Had this vibrator even entered my mother's pussy hole? I pressed it against the tip of my cock, slightly into my pee hole, and shivered in ecstasy. I pondered the possibilities, and refocused the pulsating sensation on the most sensitive portions of my cock shaft.

"So tell me mom," I wondered aloud. "Where was your little toy when you made those pretty moaning sounds last night? How did you make yourself cum? Was the tip jammed against your aching clit? Or did you stick the whole thing up your pussy?"

No one answered and no one needed to. By the time I finished voicing the thought, cum spurted from my cock in thick, satisfying jets. Cum coated my hands, my stomach and my mother's toy. I relaxed every muscle, closed my eyes, and leaned back into my pillow to enjoy the fleeting moment of bliss which follows ejaculation.

The moment was cut short by the sound of the front door opening downstairs.

"Justin," called my mother's voice. "I'm home."

There are few moments of terror in a young man's life that surpass the unexpected approach of footsteps in the midst of masturbation. On several counts, this was a worst case scenario. I was covered with cum, hadn't bothered to push my bedroom door closed and had left my jeans entangled with my underwear and half inside out. My heart pounded with each of my mother's footfalls on the stairs, but with the aid of adrenalin I managed a feat of Olympian dexterity over the next fifteen seconds. With a single fluid motion, I grabbed my underwear, wiped my stomach and hands, and tossed my wadded briefs beneath the bed. Placing my feet in the leg-holes of my jeans, I yanked them up to my waist, allowing just enough time to zip my fly and fasten my belt, before mom mother rounded the corner and walked into my room.

"Mom," I said with genuine surprise. "Why aren't you at work?"

"The office was dead slow this afternoon," she answered. "So they let me take off. I thought maybe we could go apartment hunting for you."

"Cool," I answered nonchalantly, hands in my pockets.

"I called your Aunt Karen," mom continued. "She can loan us the money for your rent deposit."

"Cool," I repeated.

"You're all sweaty," mom noted.

"Yeah," I said. "It's hot out. Maybe we should turn the air-conditioning on."

"Or you could open a window silly," mom said. "It's stuffy in here."

I smiled as mom walked past me toward the window, congratulating myself that embarrassment had been narrowly averted. But as mom passed the corner of my bed, our gaze landed simultaneously on the six inch flesh-tone vibrator that lay on my bed. It was still switched to the on position, and emitted a soft but persistent hum. Worse yet, there was a streak of white liquid along its length.