The front door slammed, and Diane felt her pulse quicken.
She was in bed reading, although she couldn't really remember what the book was about because her mind kept wandering back to the... session at the front door. Now that Brad was back, would he want to talk about it? It would be embarrassing for both of them, but she would do it, for her son.
She heard him coming up the stairs. She had left the door cracked open, just in case, and sure enough, he paused in the hallway. Diane held her breath. Then he knocked. "Can I come in?"
"Of course," she said, trying to put him at ease. Well, maybe herself, too.
But when he came in, he wouldn't meet her eyes. Diane asked, "How was your night out?"
"Okay, I guess."
"You 'guess'? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I...um, I was just sort of.. thinking about other things."
Diane felt a curious slickness "What other things?"
"Well, um... you know, what you did just before I left. I've been thinking about it, and I was... excited all night."
Involuntarily, Diane's eyes dropped to the front of Brad's jeans. Even as she watched, it twitched. Erections seemed to have minds of their own. But she was glad they could talk so freely about it now.
"Brad," she said, "I told you that I would help."
"Mom, I don't think you understand. Sometimes I.. do it four or five times a day."
This was a test, Diane was certain. Her own son, admitting to masturbating four of five times a day, probably to pictures of those slutty women. It was obvious that strong measures were needed to help Brad control his lusts.
She blinked. Brad's eyes had dropped to her front, and she wondered why. Of course! After a long bath, she had slipped into bed to read. It was only when she heard the key in the door that she realized that maybe she should have put something on, at least a top. The covers were pulled up, of course, but obviously some cleavage was showing. Like all men, Brad was aroused by nudity, by pictures of wicked women displaying their bodies for all to see, and now she might be inadvertently giving him a peek.
She put the thought aside, because there were more pressing matters, however uncomfortable they might be. Brad had, after all, admitted how often he needed release. Diane took a deep breath.
"Well, we'll just have to do something about it. Come here." She sat up, taking care to keep herself covered. Brad hesitated for a second, then stepped forward.
"Take out your penis... I mean, take out your cock." It was a horrible thing to say, but it would help deal with his arousal. He unzipped, but before he could go further, she said "Let me do it."
She reached for his belt, and in one movement pulled his jeans and underwear down. His cock sprang out, almost at eye level. She slid her fingers onto it - so thick!- and slowly ran them along the ridges up to his big cockhead. Even though it was the center of all of Brad's problems, Diane had to admit that her son had a magnificent cock. She started to pump, feeling the ropes of his veins. Not quite slippery enough, though, and she spat into her palm and smeared it onto his cock. That was better, and her fingers slid up and down her son's slick, hard cock.
He was watching her, his eyes bright, and Diane knew she probably looked like one of this sinful women on-line, but that was okay, because she was making this sacrifice for him. His cock get harder.
"See," he said, "I'm just always... you know, excited." Then his eyes dropped again, to her chest. "I get hot just by looking."
With a start, she glanced down, saw that the blanket had slipped much lower, which meant Brad was getting an eyeful! She hadn't really expected that to happen, but it served her right for not thinking ahead. Just one more sacrifice. Like using filthy language to arouse him.
"And what do you see?" He frowned, so Diane knew she had to be more direct. "Do you imagine a common whore jerking you off?"
"Well, I..."
"You can say it, Brad. If it will help, say the words."
Still, he hesitated. "Umm, I want you to.. you know.."
"Tell me I'm a slut," she breathed. Horrible using those words, but Diane knew it would help.
"You're a... slut."