Mom was always pretty to me, though it was easy to see why other people might not think so. She wore dumpy clothes and was so quiet and shy that most people just tended to overlook her. She didn’t really take care of her figure, either. Not that she had the time. It was just her and me. My dad had run off more than ten years ago.
I didn’t even remember him any more. I was only nine at the time. Mom had worked hard to get me through school. Sometimes, when times were tough, she’d had to work two jobs. She didn’t have much education or skills. She was a young girl when Dad had married her. Finding and keeping a good job was hard at first.
But, Mom was an even harder worker. Without training she had somehow found herself a position as first a bookkeeper and then a comptroller for a small firm. She was efficient, loyal, and smart to boot. It was just what she wanted, a steady, nine-to-five job.
And I was working now, too. I’d taken a job in construction as soon as I graduated high school, starting as a carpenter’s helper. Since then, I’d been steadily moving up from job to job. I also was going back to school at night, one class at a time. That still left a lot free time though, since I wasn’t very good with girls. Never had been.
Which might explain at least some of how it happened.
My old battered truck had broke down at the jobsite. Joe, my foreman, had given me a lift home. I had taken a shower to clean up. Washing myself remained me how my body had filled in with the hard work of the last year. At 6’2” and 190 lbs., I was no longer the skinny redheaded kid that had graduated high school.
The shower had also made me horny. I could have tossed off in the bathroom, letting my cum feed the hungry mouth of the drain as it had so many times over the years. It had been a hot day though and I was feeling a bit sapped. The shower had helped revive me, and a nice long stroke would perk me right up even more.
Having lots of practice over the last five years or so, I had the fine art of masturbation down to a science. Even as I lay back on my bed, my cock was already hard and throbbing. I have a stash of stories and magazines like every young man my age. Today, I didn’t even feel like bothering with those.
Lying back with my eyes closed, my heavy prick in my fist, I first tried to conjure up the image of that pretty Latino girl that checks me out sometimes at the Mini-Mart. But I hadn’t seen her in two weeks.
Or Joe’s skinny blonde daughter that sometimes visits him at the site when she needs money. He’d kill me if he knew I beat off with her in mind. But it had been so long since I saw her; she was like a distant memory.
The only woman I saw often was Mom. Just the thought of her brought back all my repressed feelings.
I’d stroked off so many times to thoughts of Mom I didn’t feel guilty about them any more. Maybe a part of me thought I should. At least at one time. Now it was just who I was. I was nineteen and I loved her as my mother. But with all my heart I wanted to screw her as though she wasn’t my mother at all.
In my mind, I knew what she needed. A strong hand and a hard cock. Mom needed a tough man with the balls to stand up to her, but she’d never give herself to a man like that again. Not since Dad had walked out.
It wasn’t that she did so bad herself. She paid the bills. She held a job. She had raised a kid well on her own. But Mom was unhappy. She’d never dated since. She never went out and had fun. She never spent anything on herself, even though now we had some money. It was like she didn’t think she deserved it. Like she was punishing herself.
I’d seen her secret stash of pictures once. She’d left it out one time when I was fifteen. Pictures of Mom, blindfolded and sucking cock. Pictures of Mom, embarrassed and forced to expose herself in public. Pictures of Mom, her bottom high in the air, being spanked.
I had only seen them one afternoon while she was out for several hours. They had disappeared again the next time I was able to look in her room. Ever since then, no matter how hard I had searched, I couldn’t find them.
But I’d gotten a glimpse into my mother’s past. One she apparently hadn’t wanted any else to see. Not ever again.
And it had turned me on.
One of the pictures had showed Mom on her hands and knees. Her large breasts swung under her. They were wrapped tight in cords of rope. I’d never seen anything like that before or ever since. But I thought about it sometimes now, when I masturbated.
One of them had shown her with a woman, licking a redhead between her legs. I thought about that a lot. Mom was a mousy brunette who kept her hair cut short and unattractive now. In the pictures, she had long, beautiful black hair.
One of the pictures had shown Mom with some wet stuff running down the insides of her thighs. I remember not even really understanding what that was at the time. One day, years latter, I finally figured out it was Dad’s semen. Or maybe someone else’s.
That’s why I had always thought of Mom as pretty. I knew why she made herself look so unattractive. She was hiding out. She used to be good looking and sexy.
Best of all, deep in the bottom of the box, I saw the ones that Mom probably didn’t look at any more. They were the ones that showed her smiling and laughing as these things happened to her. The ones that showed how much she liked it.
I’ve thought about those pictures a lot. I think Mom kept the box of pictures around to remind herself what life had once been like. She’d look at the ones on top and remember all the bad stuff that happened.
As I lay on my bed, and stroked my staff, I remembered the pictures on the bottom. The one that showed Mom smiling back at the camera, her face covered in semen. The one that showed Mom kissing the paddle before Dad spanked her, her eyes bright with excitement. The one that showed Mom in the passenger seat of our old Buick, flashing her tits at a truck driver in the other lane; a large grin on her face and her hands busy between her legs.
I thought about that grin and those tits as I stroked my meat hard. I thought about Mom’s face, covered in my jizz. Finally, I thought about Mom’s ass, high up in the air, waiting eagerly for my hand to spank her.
And I came! Hot gouts of semen spurted from my long cock. With my eyes closed, I could imagine them hitting the ceiling, even when I felt them splatter inertly on my chest. To me, I was shooting off on Mom’s ass, her cheeks red and rosy from her spanking. After I came, I’d lovingly rub my jizz into her sore ass.
I heard a gasp and look up to see Mom in the doorway of my bedroom, a load of my clothes in her arms. She looked shocked and appalled. Even when I started to cover myself, she didn’t move. No telling how long she had been there, frozen in astonishment.
Wordlessly, Mom backed out and closed the door behind her.
Well, it was bound to happen sometime, I figured. We lived in a small house together. That’s how we had first afforded it, back when it was just Mom making the payments. Now we were two adults sharing the payments and bills equally. I figured Mom masturbated on occasion. I still did at least once a day. To me, it was no big deal.
But after I got dressed and went downstairs, Mom apparently had different feelings. I found her sitting at the kitchen table, fuming.
“I want you out by tomorrow,” she said brusquely before I could say a word.