Mom's last reserves crumble as she takes her incestuous pleasures, but only after a tearful admonition, and surprises her son with heretofore unknown skills and kink. Our hero anticipates a sleepover at Mike's.
From the Author -- I've gone this long without naming most of my characters, so let's rectify that. Of course, there's Mike, our hero's best friend. Mike's mother is Mrs. Sylvia Arden (using her maiden name, long after her divorce), age 40. Our hero's mother is Mrs. Phyllis Busby (also using her post-divorce maiden name), age 38. Our hero is Neil.
Now that that's settled, let's get on with the story.
All participants in this story are of legal age. Check out chapters 1-3 before reading this for more incest/gay/breastfeeding fun.
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Mike silently closed and latched the back door behind me. On my way out, I ghosted past the window of his mother's bedroom. In the fading light, I could make out shadows rhythmically moving on the windowshade as I grabbed my Schwinn.
Damn! Are they back at it already?
I carefully walked the creaky bike out to the road before straddling it and pumping away, down the street.
I still had enough daylight to get home before Mom got wise. Switching on my near-useless headlight, I darted down an alleyway. The come in my shorts had grown cold, but I didn't mind.
My brain buzzed and my cock still ached from visions of what I just witnessed. As I rested between bouts of furious pedaling, I rubbed my crotch and ass against the bicycle seat, creating a warm, pleasant sensation. The bulge in my jeans was clearly visible in the failing light, and I fought against rubbing it. Two strokes of my hand would've sent me over the edge into another sticky release, but not on my bicycle!
Standing on my pedals and coasting, I turned down an unfamiliar street, into an adjoining residential area, with the hope of shaving a few minutes off my commute, but the best laid plans of mice and men...
Huge, old-growth trees lined the sidewalks, their canopies blanketing the neighborhood underneath, absorbing what little sunlight remained. Huffing and grunting, I powered through the addition to the open area beyond. That's when I spotted Mrs. Nelson.
I didn't see her, per se, but her vehicle. She had shown off her new, green Chevelle to everyone at school a few months ago. Of course, many students and some faculty envisioned getting Mrs. Nelson in the back seat and to some degree of nudity.
There was enough light for me to make out her hairdo. I stopped behind a massive tree trunk as her car rumbled past.
Wow, is this her neighborhood?
I had to find out, daylight be damned. Switching off my headlight, I trailed her for a couple of blocks until she turned down a side street. I nearly collided with a fireplug trying to keep up with her.
At last, she pulled into the carport of a dark, low, ranch-style home. I slouched behind a station wagon parked on the curb across the street to spy on her. Perfunctorally, she exited her car, big bag in hand and lunchpail in the other. With a flash of her silky calves, I watched her ass wiggle into the darkness. A light briefly appeared as she opened and closed a door, entering the home.
Behind me, the porch light of the house switched on, and I heard the latch to the front door click, like someone was coming out. Quickly, I memorized Mrs. Nelson's street address and slipped away, down the street.
"Hey, babe," Mom greeted me from the kitchen as I came in the back door. "Where've you been?"
Ah, my loving Mom, with her gentle meddling and genuine concern. I'll always be a child to her.
"Shot some hoops with the guys," I lied, giving her a quick kiss on the mouth. As our mouths pressed together, I reached around and gave her sweet, robe-covered rump a squeeze as she made herself a sandwich. "I'm gonna jump in the shower. I'm all sweaty."
"Okay," she said, distractedly. "Do you want a sandwich, too?"
"Yes, Mom. Thanks." I disappeared down the hall into the bathroom.
I stripped naked and jumped into the shower, lathering up my cock and balls, washing away any remainder of dry, crusted come. For appearances, I also washed my ass and pits just for Mom. She'd be sniffing me for that perfumed hint of Dial deodorant soap and, who knew, she may want some loving herself.
Rinsing the soap out of my ass, I let my fingers roam a bit, remembering the sensation Mike had created with his urgent pounding. Pushing between my buttocks, I rubbed my middle finger against my anus, circling it gently.
The sensation returned as I closed my eyes.
"Ohhh," I exhaled from parted lips in the foggy mist of the shower. The sensation mounted as I fingered my asshole around the rim, not quite entering it.
Goddamn, what is this? No matter, it feels great!
With my free hand, I gripped my hardness, pulling the skin taut as I finally pushed the tip of my finger inside my tight anus. God, it felt so very good. It was like I was pushing my cock out from behind!
I had to stop at that point, not wanting Mom to get suspicious. My showers usually took only a few minutes, but now I was running out of hot water. Still, I was fully erect and bobbing, needing release. I decided against returning to the living room naked and slipped on a pair of shorts. I had to point my cock up, against my belly, in a vain attempt to hide it.
When I returned to the living room, Mom was eating a sandwich in her ubiquitous Barcalounger, a tall glass of milk on the nearby TV tray. Another sandwich and glass of milk for me was perched on the other TV tray next to the sofa.
"My, you must be clean," Mom smirked. "You were in there long enough."
Her words were softened by that mocking tone and her beautiful smile.
"You're complaining about a clean son?" I shot back, sliding up onto the sofa with the glass of milk, taking a gulp, then grabbing the pimento and cheese sandwich.
"Oh, no." She also took a sip of her milk, looking over the rim at the television. "Especially not now."
I snorted.
Hmmm, what a tease.
We worked on our food for a while, watching flickering images of the evening newscaster. Images of a foreign war, domestic protests, anger, violence and bloodshed were punctuated every few minutes by a commercial announcement for some shiny, new object or consumer service -- things that were supposed to make the purchaser happy and content, and perhaps the envy of their friends and neighbors. Mom finally piped up.
"You never told me - how did you make out on Mrs. Nelson's math test?"
Talk about a question from left field! I froze, blindsided.
Whaaat?
