The Father Of The Man
Chapter 1
Iris was getting close to forty-five and all she had were her memories. I realize this is a harsh statement, as if we've given up on her. But her husband was killed by a drunk driver after church, and she was always fighting the throbbing between her legs. True, her husband wasn't a Casanova type but he had an impressive cock, and he managed to plug her at least once a week, and that's better than nothing at all!
Her figure was good for a woman her age; she felt she was a bit too busty, but it was false modesty. Her breasts were firm, and very, very sensitive. When her hormones were right, she could climax almost at will with her big brown nipples.
She worked part time as a cashier in a supermarket, because she had good people skills and didn't have a sour disposition like most help these days. Men asked her out, and she turned them down. First, it didn't look good to be flirty during working hours, and second, the store manager kept an eye on her.
The most important thing in her life was Timothy. He was her son, who was just graduating from college. He was a serious person, for his age -- much too serious!
He had some good habits, habits like clean living, not whoring around, and no binge drinking. Although he masturbated like most guys, he didn't care much for porn. He preferred to fantasize about his mother.
Timmy, as his mother called him when she was feeling amorous, had a wild imagination when it came to conjuring up lewd scenarios about his mother. To outward appearances, at church, she was a nice, middle-aged lady. To Timothy she was a hot-assed female waiting to be plugged.
When he thought about his mother, he envisioned her in all kinds of salacious scenarios, but his three favorites were of her bending over, sort of an up-skirt visual, where her big ass cheeks were exposed and her pussy gusset wet. His second best had her sitting in an armchair, her knees locked over the arms, and her hairy quim gaping wide open. In his mind she was fingering herself, first slowly and then with an urgency because she was coming, and doing it a lot, and she was squirting her juices and making a mess. He knew women could do it again and again.
His third fantasy was his mother laying in bed wearing just a camisole. Her breasts were very large in this visual, and she appeared to be gnawing on her own tit. It didn't matter which nipple came first, either one, but she'd be licking at it then voraciously chewing on it. In his mind, of course, she could have multitasked, being fucked by two men at once, while licking her sister's cunt. In his mind there was no limit to the degradations he'd put her through. In reality, Iris had a wistful look, with her fingers twisting her scented handkerchief, sometimes with tears, but always with a look of desperation.
Chapter 2
At this time in his life, Timothy had to make a decision. He wanted to be a cleric, and as a Christian he had lots of options. It depended on his life choices, as they say. He could become a Catholic priest, an Evangelical, or an evangelist -- a tent preacher. Naturally he would make the most money by holding revivals. But there is no such thing as a free lunch!
Being a tent preacher would require him to perform miracles, or to put it in layman's terms, heal the afflicted. Of course, he could hire out-out-work actors and these were plentiful. He needed beaten-up people so he toured some of the homeless shelters. People were huddled behind dumpsters, living under bridges, and even, god-forbid, still living at home! He could rehearse the altar call, where the actors would hobble down front, for a laying on of hands. You might see it as groping, but no woman ever complained. It fact it aroused them, and women were told -- "You get born again once! Not over and over!"
The Bible is full of stories about rape, sodomy, and incest. These were acceptable life styles, as long as some modicum of remorse is shown at the time of death. It gave Timothy a clear field: he could fuck his way into Heaven -- if such as place truly existed -- or worse case, get shot by a jealous husband.
He admired the apostle Paul, who killed Jews or those not of the establishment, stoning the faithful, and mostly likely castrated those who were well hung. Paul's dick was small and those who knew Paul best, like Paul's mother, contributed Paul's internalized anger to penis envy.
Timothy had an economy-sized penis, as in giant-sized, and he told his pals this was his cross to bear. His mother was stacked, and Timothy jerked off to his mother twice a day, sometimes more depending on what was on TV. If he were an entrepreneur, he could buy himself a clerical collar, and establish his own church. There were so many decisions to be made!
* * *
Iris figured her sex life was over until that morning when she got a call from Timothy. He was coming home! He had graduated from college without being arrested with a bunch of protesters. Thank god, he wasn't a violent type! To her, Timothy was her lover, not yet in a physical sense but in her mind.
When Iris and her son were together they were like two excited kids at Christmas time. To say they were close is an understatement! They even wrestled on the floor, her thighs exposed almost to her panties and Timothy sported a massive hard-on. Then she'd playfully grab his balls and squeeze, making him howl. When they were this close, he could smell her, her pheromones, and of course he always associated the odor with a woman's flesh, especially when she was wet. He didn't dare mention it to her, but he loved that smell of her!
When he mother hovered over him, with her boobs in his face, he told himself to 'be cool' and pretended he didn't want to fuck her on the spot. In the ass. Her ass was big bubble, but firm, and her rosehole was fringed by dark hair. She always wore an apron, but the apron could hardly cover her massive jugs. Too many times he wanted to reach out and rub her buns, telling her 'I love you, mom.' And she'd smile back, glancing down at the obvious bulge that always seemed to be there. Was it always there?
* * *
When he was in the tub he played with his cock, and depending on how long he lasted before he shot his sperm into the bath bubbles, he loved rimming himself. Moreover, he tugged on his limb, stretching it, and slapped it. He talked to his pecker like it was human, and he'd squeeze it lovingly, then pretend to choke it. He thought about using a feather on it, but there was no beating baby oil!
A bathroom with a tub was a luxury these days. We find Timothy in the bathtub, trying to teach his pecker to speak Spanish. As they say about building Rome in a day, he did not expect his throbber to even say 'hola' but he was having a good time. Which was a pity because he might be there a long time and Iris wanted to pee. He'd better hurry up!
She called upstairs for him to hurry up.
There was no answer. After she climbed the stairs, Iris found the bathroom door open. "Hey, I said hurry up ... I gotta go!"
"Go ahead," Timothy replied. "I won't look."
He was soaking in the tub, watching his dick partially submerged on the surface of the bath water. It was over 10-inches long, fully extended, and was a thick dick. To him, his cock looked like a swollen knockwurst.
"I'll bet!" she retorted, but she entered the room and pulled the shower curtain closed before she sat on the toilet. When she needed to piss she always had an odor about her. It was a smell of wet cunt.
"I can hear you!" He laughed.
"I can always hear you, too," Iris said.
They often bantered back and forth like this.
"I'm gonna dry now," Timothy said, and he stepped naked, wet and dripping from the tub.
"Timothy . . . don't!" Iris shouted. But it was too late. Iris pulled her skirt down to hide her nakedness.
He calmly stood inches in front of her, drying his naked, slim body. For some reason, this excited Iris much more than what she was doing earlier, reading from the Book of Matthew.
"Mom?"
"Yeah?" she replied, trying to figure out how she was going to wipe herself.
"Do you have a lot of hair between your legs?"
"TIMOTHY!"
"What's the matter? I was just wondering if you shaved it."
"I don't shave myself. What do you think I am?"
"Well, girls do these days ..."
"A real woman doesn't shave!"
"Yeah," he agreed. "A hairy cunt is very erotic ..."
"You shouldn't use that word. It's naughty!" She was pissing in the bowl as she spoke to him. It made a hissing, splashing sound.
He didn't respond. But she couldn't suppress the throbbing. It was back.
"Hey, let me dry you," she said to him, who was struggling with the towel behind his upper back. As she spoke, she took the towel in her hands and began to rub Timothy's back.
Next, she pulled him around and vigorously rubbed his chest and belly. As she did, she looked down at his semi-erect cock and balls. God, they were beautiful -- and massive! Especially his balls! His penis was almost hairless and it was pink from the bath.
Timothy didn't know where to look as he felt his mother pushing the towel between his thighs and rubbing his legs. But he liked the touch of her hand when it caught him once or twice in his balls and around his prick and, despite his embarrassment, he wanted her to keep up what she was doing.
Iris wondered if she dared make any kind of overt advance to her son. She realized that she was taking a great risk if she did, and that in any case it would be wrong to take advantage of him. Yet the more she looked at his affair, and touched it, the more the urge became irresistible. She hadn't seen him naked in years, and was amazed at how much he'd developed. And she was horny as hell!
"Come on in and lie down on the bed on your back for a minute," she said, hardly aware of what she was saying. Her voice trembled. "I'll give you a good rubdown."
He laid back, and Iris began to use the towel high up between his legs, and then on to actually rub his dick and balls. As soon as she did so, he felt a strange thrill go through him and he began to relax his legs to his mother's rubbing. For two or three minutes Iris continued to rub his legs, thighs, cock and belly. And then, suddenly, unable to resist temptation any longer, she began to stroke just his thighs, taking her hands right up between his legs to his crotch and catching his balls with the back of her hands.
As Timothy made no move, she took the risk of touching his prick and balls, taking them in her hands and gently stroking them.
Timothy's hand suddenly closed over her own, holding his cock like a vise in its grasp.
The movement shocked her back to her senses. She quickly turned and moved away from the bed. "Get dressed and come on into the living room, Timothy. We'll play cards or something."
Iris sensed his cock was getting very hard as she walked away from the bedroom. God, she thought, how crazy! I'm getting turned on by my own son!
She was even more unnerved when Timothy came into the living room with the buttons on his fly open and no shorts on.
"Well, you didn't have to come down undressed," she said.
"Oh, I thought you wanted me to come down right away," he said, starting to fasten the metal buttons on his jeans.
"Oh, not that urgent. Anyway, let me help you . . . you've got your shirt sticking out at the back." She liked the feel of her fingers rubbing against his asscheeks as she tucked his shirt into his jeans. "And now the front."
He turned around and Iris pulled his jeans tighter, attempting to close that top button.
"Are you upset with me, Mom?"
"No, why?"
"Because I liked it when you touched me in the bedroom."
