Mum Caught Me
- 4 years ago
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Mum Does It Better free porn video
When Mark arrived home from school, there was a simple message stuck to the fridgedoor: Be here when I get back from work, we have to talk. Mum. The door had been purged of expired notes and grocery lists to make the message stand out. She had even thought to use the little magnet shaped like an exclamation point to pin it up.
Oh terrific, Mark thought to himself, what did I do? He racked his brain a moment, which yielded little. Mark was not the trouble-making type. He tended to be an increasingly lackluster teenager, easily bored and prone to daydreaming, but they were only two weeks into the new school year. Finally, he shrugged, and went to his room to lose himself on his play staition until his mother returned from work, not, for the moment, overly worried. It might not be about him at all.
About five thirty that evening as usual, Mark heard the familiar slam of the front door.
"Mark?", Helen called, but not too loudly.
"Yeah mum."
"You saw my note?"
"Sure."
"Okay, come on down darling, we have to talk."
Wow, she isn't wasting any time, Mark thought. He sighed (quietly), saved his game, and he trudged down to the living room to face whatever obviously unavoidable unpleasantness was in store for him.
His mother was slipping off her shoes, the unflattering but comfortable kind worn by women who spent their working days on their feet. His mother Helen was a pretty woman in her thirties.
"Hi darling. Couch, please." Mark slumped down on the side near the tv, but not so heavily as to suggest defiance. No point in fanning the flames.
Helen dropped her purse on the coffee table, and took her seat opposite, leaning back and sighing with obvious relief. She crossed her legs, which made the fairly modest pink skirt ride up a little on her smooth thighs with a deliciously soft cotton-against-nylon sound.
Mark groaned inwardly. It seemed he couldn't help it, noticing these little sensual details about his mother, even under duress. Now is hardly the time for that, he told himself.
"So, something that just can't wait, huh?" he ventured, trying to make it not sound cheeky.
His mother shrugged. "No point in waiting. Well, maybe for a minute." Mark's mother leaned over to open her purse and did something that made Mark's world spin wildly out from under him.
Helen pulled a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from her purse.
His mother withdrew one from the pack, lit it precisely in the center of her puckered lips. She drew inward, and just before the crest of the deep drag, she snapped the cigarette away between the tips of two long, graceful fingers, finished filling her lungs, then exhaled a long exquisite stream of smoke into the waning sunlight filtering through the window behind them. It was a simple sequence of actions, enacted millions of times a day throughout the world, and burned into Mark's mind forever. The first time he watched his mother smoke a cigarette. It was a beginning.
Helen looked at her son with a Mona Lisa smile, and gave a little laugh. "Just like riding a bicycle. Oh, I guess I'll need an ashtray." She got up and went to the kitchen for a few moments before returning with a shallow saucer. "This'll have to do I guess." She took another drag off the long, white cigarette, not as luxurious as the first, but also less self-conscious, and flicked in the makeshift ashtray. She held the cigarette up in front of her. "I quit when I found out I was pregnant with you. Well, that was one of the things I quit. I'd forgotten how much I'd enjoyed it. " and then to her son, the sardonic smile notched up, "Is my smoke going to bother you, darling?"
It was a teasing challenge, but completely beyond Mark's ability to process at the moment. He knew something was very up though, and replied carefully, for his throat was unaccountably parched, and his heart was hammering in his chest like it wanted out. "I didn't know you ever smoked, mum."
His mother tisked. "Now that is a lie, which brings me the the first issue. "Well,", Helen relented, "I guess it's not really too much of an issue. Some mothers might think so. Anyway, I found that box of yours in the wardrobe a couple weeks ago. You know, the one, with all the pictures and stories? Sexy stories about mothers and sons? Cigarette ads you ripped out of my old womens' magazines? Old pictures of me?"
The world shattered around Mark and rained down on him in icy shards. Liquid nitrogen coursed through his veins. He'd felt light-headed before, but passing out was now a very real threat. A shoebox filled with a painstakingly gathered collection of erotica, as he defined it. Stories of i****t, mother and son i****t, clipped from porn magazines spanning several decades (and Penthouse forum Letters,). Images of mature women, running the gamut from quasi-tasteful Playboy-like spreads to hardcore. Cigarette ads featuring mature female models. And, most damning of all, photos of his own mother from her younger days (a few of which did indeed confirm that she had, for a time, smoked cigarettes). It was a box of dark delights, the distilled essence of the very outer reaches of eroticism, and the center of his fantasy universe.
He had buried it under stacks of old clothes and forgotten comic books. He had been so careful, he thought. So cunning. It had all been for naught. The ultimate Doomsday Scenario had occurred: his mother had found The Box.
Mark was far beyond words, but his expression must have spoken volumes, because his mother waved her hand dismissively. "Hey hey hey, relax darling. It's okay I'm not mad. Really."
A tiny glimmer of light flared in Mark's blasted mind, like a sudden, impossible blip on the screen of a flatlined heart monitor. "Wh...wha..."
Helen shrugged. "You're not the only k** who's had the hots for his mother. It happens. Or so I gather." She took a casual drag on her cigarette and leaned over to the coffee table again to flick. "You know, I read all those stories. They're really very..." Helen searched for a moment, "...passionate. Loving." But that's really not what I want to talk to you about, at the moment anyway. We'll get back to your oedipal issues. What we really need to deal with your school work, darling."
Mark blinked. School? His very heart laid bare with its darkest, most forbidden i****tuous yearnings spilled out in front of his mother and she wanted to talk about school? It was beyond comprehension. The world continued to pitch and list.
"School?"
"Yeah Mark, school. I got a call from your form teacher the other day. You know, Mrs. Hearndon? She told me your other teachers are telling her that it's two weeks in the term and you're already daydreaming in class or doodling in your notebooks or doing whatever except what you should be doing. "
So this really is about schoolwork, Mark thought to himself. Not a pleasant subject, but familiar at least. He began to gain a little footing.
"Mrs. Hearndon actually called you?
"Yes darling. She's your form head this year, and she knows your smarter than that. I know you're smarter than that. You know you're smarter than that, don't you?"
"Yeah mum, I know, I just...I get so bored. Multiplying fractions and conjugating verbs...it's all so dull. I'd rather think about anything else. "
"Anything else like that stuff in the shoebox?" his mother asked, the smile creeping back a little.
Uh oh, not that again. "Um, maybe occasionally."
"More than occasionally, if I know you young man. And I do." A deep drag on her cigarette and Mark's mother was all business again. "But flunking out, honey, there's no excuse for that. Not from you. And it sounds like the way you're going that's just what's gonna happen. But that's not what's gonna happen. In fact..." One last drag, and Helen crushed it out on her makeshift ashtray. "...I think you're going to fly this year, darling. I think." She folded her legs up onto the couch so she could face her son, and propped her head up on her fist. She stared at him with a thoughtful expression. "Drink."
Mark brain flashed non-sequitur. "Mum?"
Helen laughed. "Gonna need a drink for this one, darling. Be right back". She headed of to the kitchen, and returned with a generous glass of wine, from which she knocked back two strong gulps before setting down. And she lit another cigarette. That didn't even surprise Mark. He was beyond surprise, or so he thought.
"Much better." She took a deep drag. "Okay, pay attention, darling, here's the deal. It's tempting to beat around the bush, so I'm just going to go for it. I've thought a lot about this situation, and I've decided to handle it my way, as usual."
Mark was bewildered, but sensed a climax approaching. He was rapt with attention.
Helen looked straight into Mark's eyes. The heat was overwhelming to Mark, but somehow he returned her gaze steadily. His mother's smile was deadly serious. "For every test you bring home," she began slowly and carefully, "with a B...now I'm talking about a major test here, not just a pop quiz or something...for every test you bring home with a B grade, I'll do you a favor, a favor begins with the letter B. Now think, honey, what kind of favor could I do for you that begins with 'B'? What kind of a favor could a mother do for a son that has the hots for her that begins with the letter 'B'?"
The bomb dropped. A big one. The big one. Mark could hear it's whistling decent in his head. He got a crazy smile on his face. "Oh my God mum..."
"That's right, darling, B is for blowjob. For every B you bring home on a test, I give you a blowjob."
Ker-wham! The bomb hit. His mother had just offered him blowjobs for good grades. He'd never so much as heard her say the word. Even the pretense of composure was unthinkable. Mark had to white-knuckle the couch to keep from tumbling off.
"Whoa!"
"Hang on, we're just getting started. If you're not too freaked, keep listening. For every A test you bring home, I'll do you another favor. A bigger favor. Now, what kind of favor begins with A?"
Mark rolled his eyes. "Jesus mum, I don't know!"
"Come on darling, humor me and play along. Think. What sexual favor begins with A? This one is kind of tougher, but how many choices do you have left?"
"Uh, uh..." Mark stammered, his thoughts and emotions streaking wildly. "Arse?'
"Oh." his mother replied thoughtfully. For all her weeks of thought and consideration, the subject of anal had never occurred to her. "Well I dont know about that, but anyway. What I really meant was A means 'All'. For an A on a test you get it All from me, for one night."
Mark plateaued. He was now physiologically incapable of greater levels of surprise, and the euphoria was beginning to give him a certain clarity of thought.
"You, for a night, for an A?"
"Full intercourse, my love. Sex. Fucking. All of the above."
"Every A?"
"Every one."
Mark exhaled, awestruck and vastly excited at the implications. "This is incredible, mum. It's like one of my stories. I mean, I can hardly believe this."
"Well, I can hardly believe I'm saying it.", Mark's mother replied dryly. "But I am, and I mean it. And there's more, even."
"What's that?", Mark asked dreamily.
"Make the honor roll this term, and I'll let you sleep with me over the Christmas holidays. My bed'll be our bed. That sound nice?"
"It sounds...like a dream, mum." Mark shook his head slowly. "Feels like one."
"Oh, and there's one other thing. You can hardly be expected to concentrate if you're horny, so, once a day, I'll wank you off." She helpfully made the accompanying motion with her fist over the crotch of her skirt, as if her son might not be certain what she was talking about. "No grades needed, just for a, I dunno, study break." She grinned,.
There followed a long silence. Mother and son looked each other over, trying to read the opposite's thoughts. Helen smoked her cigarette, and sipped her wine. Mark watched her. Finally, she decided to break the ice.
"So, that's the deal. Are you going to take me up on it, or did I just call your bluff?"
Despite how whiplashed Mark felt at that moment, the "bluff" part irked him a little.
"So what does 'C' mean? Cunt?"
He regretted dropping the c-bomb immediately, but his mother didn't bat an eye.
"Hah. You're so cute. A 'C' gets you a nice pat on the cheek, and best wishes for next time. B or better, honey. Nothing you can't handle.." She dragged heavily on the cigarette, "...with the right motivation."
Mark smiled and shook his head again. "No bullshit, mum?"
'No bullshit, darling."
"This is so not normal."
Helen shrugged. "When have we ever been normal?"
"Yeah, but this is like above and beyond. You're talking about..." Mark lowered his voice, as if profanity was still taboo at this point, "...fucking."
Helen shrugged again, and sipped her wine. " Well as long as we remember I'm still your mother, and nobody comes down with any guilt-trips, but neither us are the guilty type. I think it'll be dirty fun. It's gonna be fun teasing you." She grinned impishly.
"I had no idea you were like this, mum.
"Well you still have no idea what i'm like," Helen smirked, " but it looks like you're beginning to find out."
"If anybody finds out about this, we'll both be up the creek."
Heln exhaled a sharp jet of smoke. "You got that, so whatever happens we better both make damn sure it stays between us OK."
Another thoughtful silence.
"So when do we start?", Mark asked.
"When you say the word. Did you bring any books home tonight?"
Mark shook his head with a sheepish smile.
"Are you going to bring any books home tomorrow?"
"Think I'll bring them all home tomorrow."
Helen leaned back on the couch with a big smile. "That's what I thought."
As might be expected, dinner that evening was somewhat awkward. Mark picked hesitantly at his pasta. He just couldn't settle down, and just as he'd start to relax he'd think of the delights he might earn in the next few months, and the whole process began again. He was getting exhausted just sitting.
"So mum, I've been thinking."
"Hm. I bet you have. 'Bout what?"
"Well, I was wondering, I mean, I know I didn't do any studying today, but I thought maybe I, um, might possibly get a study break tonight, ya know? Um, as, a nice gesture?" Mark forced what he hoped was a charming, mum-melting grin. He knew he was already pushing his luck, but the urge to start translating this deal into reality was irresistible. Part of him was deathly afraid his mother might already be having second thoughts.
Helen smiled. She speared a single pasta shell with her fork, turned it over between thumb and forefinger, and gently pulled the shell off of the tines with her pearly teeth.
Christ, her son thought, she can even eat sexy.
"I've never been good at saying no to you when you're being so cute. Tonight before bed, you'll get your first study break."
Mark closed his eyes and sighed with relief.
"Mum, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not really too hungry tonight. It's not your cooking, it's just my stomach is just a little jumpy."
"Oh,", Helen said, her eyes suddenly wide with apparent concern. "If you're sick tonight, maybe we should skip the study break."
If he'd hadn't been so immediately alarmed at her words, Mark might have noticed the knowing sing-song lilt his mother had used speaking them. "No no no! I'll be fine! I just don't wanna antagonize it right now."
"I understand darling. Pasta makes great leftovers anyway. Tell you what, why don't you go amuse yourself for a while. I have some reading I want to do. I'll drop in to your room before I go to bed."
Feeling fairly dismissed, Mark rose and stood before his mother. She was so pretty and savvy and dirty-sweet, he wanted to sweep her up out of the chair and smother her with kisses. For the moment, he contented himself with a hug and a peck on the cheek.
"Hey, I'd say we're a little beyond that stage, don't you think? Now come here..."
Helen pulled her son's face close to her own. Mark puckered instantly, and was wet with his mother's lips. Not torrid, this kiss, but hotter and more intimate than mothers and sons are supposed to kiss. Mark felt his face flush, and his heart skip madly again.
They parted slowly their lips making a delicious wet sound. Mother and son looked into each others' smiling eyes, until Mark could stand it no longer, and grasped his mother behind her neck for one last, rougher clinch.
Mark thought perhaps he'd finally gone to far, but he needn't have worried. Helen smiled when they disengaged. "That's more like it. Now go, I'll catch you later." She gave Mark a playful swat on the arse as he left to sweat out the seconds before bed time.
Later...
Mark lay on his bed. The anticipation was electric. His mother had just dropped by his room to announce that she was just about ready for bed, and that he should "get comfortable".
Soon, Helen reappeared at his doorway.
"Ready for your freebie?" she asked with a smile.
"Are you k**ding?"
"Mmmmkay. Oil or lotion?"
"Er, mum?"
Helen laughed. "Old habits die hard. Do you want me to use baby oil or hand lotion on you, hon?"
"Oh." Mark subconsciously assumed his mother would simply jerk him off dry. That's how he usually did it. He pondered the question a moment. In truth, both choices sounded fantastic.
"Uh, lotion please."
Helen winked. "Lotion it is then.". His mother disappeared briefly, and returned with a bottle of hand lotion, and a towel.
She sure has this planned out, Mark thought to himself.
Helen made to swing his desk chair around, but Mark interrupted. "Can you sit on the bed mum?"
"Mmm, I think so." Helen tried sitting with her legs off to the side, but that required both an uncomfortable twist and a somewhat precarious lean over her son's crotch, considering her hands would be busy. In the end, she simply knelt straddling Mark's legs, which Mark found very nice indeed, despite the fact that his mother had chosen none-too-revealing bed clothes this evening. She wore emerald green silky pajamas and rather attractive, but left a lot to the imagination.
As his mother was placing the towel and bottles to handy positions beside her, Mark asked, his voice breathy with mounting excitement: "Mum, can I see your tits when you do it?"
Helen made an comic show of indecision, looking ceilingward and rubbing her chin. Clearly, a question like this had been anticipated. "Ummmm, no." she replied cheerfully. "Nope, I think that's a B level privilege at least. Yup, B for boobs, definitely."
Mark smiled and shrugged. "Fair enough."
Helen hovered over her son, looking downward into his eyes, searching them. Mark returned the gaze, and he ran his hands slowly over his mother's thighs, savoring the smooth tautness of them beneath the filmy material. Both knew The Point of No Return had been reached.
"Nothing to it but to do it, darling." Mark drew a sharp breath as he felt the backs of his mother's long, slender fingers grasp his (very tented) boxers. "May I have the honor?'
"Please." Mark whispered hoarsely, for any more elaborate response was beyond him at the moment.
Helen lifted herself up on her knees a little, curled her fingers, and pulled down on her son's last remaining garment. Mark hoisted his arse a little to help. When his head snagged the elastic, Helen simply yanked harder, which made Mark's cock pivot upward and snap back against his waist with an obscenely meaty smack.
And there they were. He was naked before his mother. The body warmed air in his tiny bedroom felt strangely cool. Mark felt free and exhilarated.
"Mmmm", Helen purred, looking down evaluating her son's member. "Seven inches? Close to it, anyway. A little lean, nice and veiny, but well proportioned. Very well." She looked up at her son. "That's a fine tool, love. You have a beautiful cock."
Mark smiled proudly. His mother flipped the nozzle of the hand lotion bottle open, and very carefully dripped the cream onto her son's cock. Mark gasped and flinched as every drip touched; the cream felt like icy pinpricks to his superheated cock, though they warmed quickly.
"Cold, mmm? Poor darling. I think we can fix that", she said with a subtle smile. Helen coated her palms with the same lotion, rubbed her hands together briefly, and reached down.
Mark saw his mother's hands descend in slow motion. He moaned softly as Helen began to smear the mess of hand cream around with two of her fingertips. Two fingertips became three, which became her whole fist, and then both. Helen wrapped both of her lotion-slicked fists around her son's steel-hard cock and slowly began to pump. Mark closed his eyes, threw his head back and writhed and moaned in utter ecstasy. The waves of pleasure now over-torquing his nerves demanded his body try to dissipate it with movement and vocalization. It was not a choice, it was a primal, chemical imperative.
"That's it, darling. Feel your mummy's hands on your cock." Helen whispered huskily. "Do you want mummy to play with your balls?"
Mark gasped, barely able to speak. He grasped his mother's thighs instinctively for something to hold on to and the room around him rolled and pitched. "No...my shaft mum. Just the shaft."
"My darling baby boy knows what he likes." Helen used both fists, one on top of the other, pumping her son in earnest now. Each pump made their hot creamy flesh sclertch together obscenely.
Mark could feel it already, the first tingling that heralded orgasm. He would reflect later that the sensation was not unlike that he experienced with a first drink of alcohol. It always began in his shoulders and thighs, and soon it would race toward his loins, and then...
Too soon. Too soon! He felt orgasm barreling to overtake him like a freight train, utterly beyond his power to divert or slow. At that moment he fully knew that his mother was in total control of the pleasure he was receiving, She was flipping a switches deep in his body he had no access too, even while masturbating himself. He was just coming along for the ride.
"Oh God mum!", he moaned, "I'm gonna cum !!!!"
Helen's delicate fists raced up and down her son's shaft quicker now, almost blurring. "Let it go, baby!" She whispered hoarsely. "Let all your cum go for mummy!"
That did it.
Mark's body heaved, and he groaned like he'd been stabbed. Only by Herculean effort did he avoid pitching his mother off the bed. His loins unloaded in a rush, ejaculation ramped up upon ejaculation until they were almost one indistinguishable streak of semen.
The first barrage impacted squarely on Mark's face, though he barely noticed from the tsunami of orgasm washing over him. Helen noticed though, and with a startled squawk cupped one of her hands over the tip of her son's spasming cock while still fisting it madly with the other.
Mark moaned and shouted as he unburdened himself in his mother's hands. After eternal moments of pleasure and agony almost indistinguishable, Mark felt the storm subside. One last dollop of cum escaped his cock, so bereft of energy it merely dripped down his mother's knuckles. Mark's body relaxed at last, and he fell back against his bed, drinking great, ragged lung fulls of air.
Helen struggled to control her own breathing as she surveyed the aftermath. Her son was splattered with his own semen. Her hands dripped with it. She grabbed towel, and carefully cleaned them both. After cleaning her son's face, she gently kissed him on the lips.
"Wanna talk a little?"
"Sure, love to Mum." Mark smiled dreamily. The gray endorphin haze had completely dissolved, and he could think again.
Helen wheeled Mark's desk chair around to face the bed. She lit a cigarette. Her son watched her, entranced.
"So, what did you think of your study break? Your mother give you a good handjob, or what?"
"Oh God, Mum, that was incredible. Absolutely incredible. I can't tell you."
"I'm glad you liked it, darling. There's more where that came from."
Mother and son then spent a number of quiet moments simply looking at each other fondly. Neither was in the mood to force conversation. Long pauses, in other circumstances awkward, seemed comfortable in the afterglow. Mark was certainly in no mind to rush anything. His mother's hands had made him feel as exquisitely empty and satisfied as he ever had in his life. Yet, there was once small nagging question in the back of his mind that had resurfaced now that he was not overwhelmed with pleasure to the exclusion of all other feeling and thought.
"Mum, what made you think to ask me 'oil or lotion' before?"
Helen took a thoughtful drag on her cigarette, and blew a cone of smoke into her son's room. Mark didn't mind at all. "Old habit. I used to ask men that a lot, under similar circumstances."
That sounds interesting, Mark thought.
"Really? Why?"
"Well, I'm not sure you're ready for...", Helen began, and recalled the act committed between her and her son moments before. She laughed and almost smacked herself in the forehead.
"I used to work at a massage parlor, honey. That what the girls do there. Well, mostly."
"Whoa. Wow, mum."
Helen grinned. "I told you you had no idea what a wild c***d I am."
Helen crushed out her cigarette, and, to her son's delight. He was enjoying the unexpected and fascinating glimpse of a shady peripheral world he could only heretofore have imagined, and could not have ever imagined his mother being a part of. Not to mention that the dirty talk was devilish fun.
"Okay, so, what was on the menu at this massage parlour besides hand jobs?"
"Well, there was what they call a 'breast release'. Basically, you oil up your tits, and the guy fucks your cleavage." Helen hefted her modest mammories through her nightshirt. "These have had a few jerk off in, they do look cute splattered with jizz.". Helen giggled at the new bar of filthy shamelessness she'd just raised.
Dear God, Mark thought warmly, what a woman.
"So that was it? Hand jobs and tit jobs?"
"No, of course not. Frequent fliers got special privileges."
"Did you ever have any frequent fliers, mum?"
Helen smirked. "Yup, quite a few."
"And you...", Mark began hesitantly.
"Yeah, darling, I sucked and fucked them. So, now you know your mother was a whore. That bother you?"
The truth was, Mark had mixed feelings about the subject, though he couldn't pin anything down just yet.
"No, I guess not. Not if it doesn't bother you. Why'd you quit?"
"Your Dad. When we broke up, I didn't want anything to get between you and me, k**do."
Mark ignored the part about his father. From what little he had gathered, his father was a lout he'd never gotten to know, anyway. Mark had no interest in him. His mother was infinitely more vibrant in his life.
"Ever think about doing it again?"
Heln suddenly looked aghast. "Are you suggesting your own mother take up whoring again!?"
Mark flinched at the sudden, unexpected vehemence.
Helen smiled and waved in the air. 'Honey, I'm sorry. I was teasing. It didn't bother me then, and it wouldn't bother me now. Do you think a little whoring would bother a woman that can jerk off her own k**? Yeah, I've thought of it. Once and a while. The money would be nice. I just don't think most men are into old birds."
"Good points", Mark conceded, "...except for the last part. Come on, you're nowhere near an old bird, Mum. You're still hot as hell. You know that, don't you?"
Helen smiled shyly. It was the first time in recent memory Mark had seen her demure. It was adorable. "Yeah I guess so. It's just nice to hear it from somebody else."
Helen lost herself in thought for a few moments, then, noticing her cigarette burning low, snubbed it out and collected the handjob paraphernalia. "I think I'll head for bed, darling. You must be about ready to pass out."
During the course of the conversion, Mark's cock had pulsed slowly into wavering erection again. As Janet turned to leave, Mark cleared his throat and nodded toward his renewed prong. "Mum, could you take care of me again before you go?"
His mother smiled and shook her head. "Sorry baby, once a day. Them's the rules. But here..." Helen set the hand cream bottle on the desk beside Mark's bed, blew her son a silent kiss and went to bed.
They say a man can't fall asleep with a hard on. They are wrong. Mark briefly contemplated the pros and cons of taking matters into his own hands when exhaustion finally overtook him, and he passed into the deepest, dreamless sleep he'd experienced for some time. It was a measure just how exhausted he was that he did not even stir when his mother brought herself to screaming, moaning, utterly unhinged orgasm down the hall scant minutes later.
Oh terrific, Mark thought to himself, what did I do? He racked his brain a moment, which yielded little. Mark was not the trouble-making type. He tended to be an increasingly lackluster teenager, easily bored and prone to daydreaming, but they were only two weeks into the new school year. Finally, he shrugged, and went to his room to lose himself on his play staition until his mother returned from work, not, for the moment, overly worried. It might not be about him at all.
About five thirty that evening as usual, Mark heard the familiar slam of the front door.
"Mark?", Helen called, but not too loudly.
"Yeah mum."
"You saw my note?"
"Sure."
"Okay, come on down darling, we have to talk."
Wow, she isn't wasting any time, Mark thought. He sighed (quietly), saved his game, and he trudged down to the living room to face whatever obviously unavoidable unpleasantness was in store for him.
His mother was slipping off her shoes, the unflattering but comfortable kind worn by women who spent their working days on their feet. His mother Helen was a pretty woman in her thirties.
"Hi darling. Couch, please." Mark slumped down on the side near the tv, but not so heavily as to suggest defiance. No point in fanning the flames.
Helen dropped her purse on the coffee table, and took her seat opposite, leaning back and sighing with obvious relief. She crossed her legs, which made the fairly modest pink skirt ride up a little on her smooth thighs with a deliciously soft cotton-against-nylon sound.
Mark groaned inwardly. It seemed he couldn't help it, noticing these little sensual details about his mother, even under duress. Now is hardly the time for that, he told himself.
"So, something that just can't wait, huh?" he ventured, trying to make it not sound cheeky.
His mother shrugged. "No point in waiting. Well, maybe for a minute." Mark's mother leaned over to open her purse and did something that made Mark's world spin wildly out from under him.
Helen pulled a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from her purse.
His mother withdrew one from the pack, lit it precisely in the center of her puckered lips. She drew inward, and just before the crest of the deep drag, she snapped the cigarette away between the tips of two long, graceful fingers, finished filling her lungs, then exhaled a long exquisite stream of smoke into the waning sunlight filtering through the window behind them. It was a simple sequence of actions, enacted millions of times a day throughout the world, and burned into Mark's mind forever. The first time he watched his mother smoke a cigarette. It was a beginning.
Helen looked at her son with a Mona Lisa smile, and gave a little laugh. "Just like riding a bicycle. Oh, I guess I'll need an ashtray." She got up and went to the kitchen for a few moments before returning with a shallow saucer. "This'll have to do I guess." She took another drag off the long, white cigarette, not as luxurious as the first, but also less self-conscious, and flicked in the makeshift ashtray. She held the cigarette up in front of her. "I quit when I found out I was pregnant with you. Well, that was one of the things I quit. I'd forgotten how much I'd enjoyed it. " and then to her son, the sardonic smile notched up, "Is my smoke going to bother you, darling?"
It was a teasing challenge, but completely beyond Mark's ability to process at the moment. He knew something was very up though, and replied carefully, for his throat was unaccountably parched, and his heart was hammering in his chest like it wanted out. "I didn't know you ever smoked, mum."
His mother tisked. "Now that is a lie, which brings me the the first issue. "Well,", Helen relented, "I guess it's not really too much of an issue. Some mothers might think so. Anyway, I found that box of yours in the wardrobe a couple weeks ago. You know, the one, with all the pictures and stories? Sexy stories about mothers and sons? Cigarette ads you ripped out of my old womens' magazines? Old pictures of me?"
The world shattered around Mark and rained down on him in icy shards. Liquid nitrogen coursed through his veins. He'd felt light-headed before, but passing out was now a very real threat. A shoebox filled with a painstakingly gathered collection of erotica, as he defined it. Stories of i****t, mother and son i****t, clipped from porn magazines spanning several decades (and Penthouse forum Letters,). Images of mature women, running the gamut from quasi-tasteful Playboy-like spreads to hardcore. Cigarette ads featuring mature female models. And, most damning of all, photos of his own mother from her younger days (a few of which did indeed confirm that she had, for a time, smoked cigarettes). It was a box of dark delights, the distilled essence of the very outer reaches of eroticism, and the center of his fantasy universe.
He had buried it under stacks of old clothes and forgotten comic books. He had been so careful, he thought. So cunning. It had all been for naught. The ultimate Doomsday Scenario had occurred: his mother had found The Box.
Mark was far beyond words, but his expression must have spoken volumes, because his mother waved her hand dismissively. "Hey hey hey, relax darling. It's okay I'm not mad. Really."
A tiny glimmer of light flared in Mark's blasted mind, like a sudden, impossible blip on the screen of a flatlined heart monitor. "Wh...wha..."
Helen shrugged. "You're not the only k** who's had the hots for his mother. It happens. Or so I gather." She took a casual drag on her cigarette and leaned over to the coffee table again to flick. "You know, I read all those stories. They're really very..." Helen searched for a moment, "...passionate. Loving." But that's really not what I want to talk to you about, at the moment anyway. We'll get back to your oedipal issues. What we really need to deal with your school work, darling."
Mark blinked. School? His very heart laid bare with its darkest, most forbidden i****tuous yearnings spilled out in front of his mother and she wanted to talk about school? It was beyond comprehension. The world continued to pitch and list.
"School?"
"Yeah Mark, school. I got a call from your form teacher the other day. You know, Mrs. Hearndon? She told me your other teachers are telling her that it's two weeks in the term and you're already daydreaming in class or doodling in your notebooks or doing whatever except what you should be doing. "
So this really is about schoolwork, Mark thought to himself. Not a pleasant subject, but familiar at least. He began to gain a little footing.
"Mrs. Hearndon actually called you?
"Yes darling. She's your form head this year, and she knows your smarter than that. I know you're smarter than that. You know you're smarter than that, don't you?"
"Yeah mum, I know, I just...I get so bored. Multiplying fractions and conjugating verbs...it's all so dull. I'd rather think about anything else. "
"Anything else like that stuff in the shoebox?" his mother asked, the smile creeping back a little.
Uh oh, not that again. "Um, maybe occasionally."
"More than occasionally, if I know you young man. And I do." A deep drag on her cigarette and Mark's mother was all business again. "But flunking out, honey, there's no excuse for that. Not from you. And it sounds like the way you're going that's just what's gonna happen. But that's not what's gonna happen. In fact..." One last drag, and Helen crushed it out on her makeshift ashtray. "...I think you're going to fly this year, darling. I think." She folded her legs up onto the couch so she could face her son, and propped her head up on her fist. She stared at him with a thoughtful expression. "Drink."
Mark brain flashed non-sequitur. "Mum?"
Helen laughed. "Gonna need a drink for this one, darling. Be right back". She headed of to the kitchen, and returned with a generous glass of wine, from which she knocked back two strong gulps before setting down. And she lit another cigarette. That didn't even surprise Mark. He was beyond surprise, or so he thought.
"Much better." She took a deep drag. "Okay, pay attention, darling, here's the deal. It's tempting to beat around the bush, so I'm just going to go for it. I've thought a lot about this situation, and I've decided to handle it my way, as usual."
Mark was bewildered, but sensed a climax approaching. He was rapt with attention.
Helen looked straight into Mark's eyes. The heat was overwhelming to Mark, but somehow he returned her gaze steadily. His mother's smile was deadly serious. "For every test you bring home," she began slowly and carefully, "with a B...now I'm talking about a major test here, not just a pop quiz or something...for every test you bring home with a B grade, I'll do you a favor, a favor begins with the letter B. Now think, honey, what kind of favor could I do for you that begins with 'B'? What kind of a favor could a mother do for a son that has the hots for her that begins with the letter 'B'?"
The bomb dropped. A big one. The big one. Mark could hear it's whistling decent in his head. He got a crazy smile on his face. "Oh my God mum..."
"That's right, darling, B is for blowjob. For every B you bring home on a test, I give you a blowjob."
Ker-wham! The bomb hit. His mother had just offered him blowjobs for good grades. He'd never so much as heard her say the word. Even the pretense of composure was unthinkable. Mark had to white-knuckle the couch to keep from tumbling off.
"Whoa!"
"Hang on, we're just getting started. If you're not too freaked, keep listening. For every A test you bring home, I'll do you another favor. A bigger favor. Now, what kind of favor begins with A?"
Mark rolled his eyes. "Jesus mum, I don't know!"
"Come on darling, humor me and play along. Think. What sexual favor begins with A? This one is kind of tougher, but how many choices do you have left?"
"Uh, uh..." Mark stammered, his thoughts and emotions streaking wildly. "Arse?'
"Oh." his mother replied thoughtfully. For all her weeks of thought and consideration, the subject of anal had never occurred to her. "Well I dont know about that, but anyway. What I really meant was A means 'All'. For an A on a test you get it All from me, for one night."
Mark plateaued. He was now physiologically incapable of greater levels of surprise, and the euphoria was beginning to give him a certain clarity of thought.
"You, for a night, for an A?"
"Full intercourse, my love. Sex. Fucking. All of the above."
"Every A?"
"Every one."
Mark exhaled, awestruck and vastly excited at the implications. "This is incredible, mum. It's like one of my stories. I mean, I can hardly believe this."
"Well, I can hardly believe I'm saying it.", Mark's mother replied dryly. "But I am, and I mean it. And there's more, even."
"What's that?", Mark asked dreamily.
"Make the honor roll this term, and I'll let you sleep with me over the Christmas holidays. My bed'll be our bed. That sound nice?"
"It sounds...like a dream, mum." Mark shook his head slowly. "Feels like one."
"Oh, and there's one other thing. You can hardly be expected to concentrate if you're horny, so, once a day, I'll wank you off." She helpfully made the accompanying motion with her fist over the crotch of her skirt, as if her son might not be certain what she was talking about. "No grades needed, just for a, I dunno, study break." She grinned,.
There followed a long silence. Mother and son looked each other over, trying to read the opposite's thoughts. Helen smoked her cigarette, and sipped her wine. Mark watched her. Finally, she decided to break the ice.
"So, that's the deal. Are you going to take me up on it, or did I just call your bluff?"
Despite how whiplashed Mark felt at that moment, the "bluff" part irked him a little.
"So what does 'C' mean? Cunt?"
He regretted dropping the c-bomb immediately, but his mother didn't bat an eye.
"Hah. You're so cute. A 'C' gets you a nice pat on the cheek, and best wishes for next time. B or better, honey. Nothing you can't handle.." She dragged heavily on the cigarette, "...with the right motivation."
Mark smiled and shook his head again. "No bullshit, mum?"
'No bullshit, darling."
"This is so not normal."
Helen shrugged. "When have we ever been normal?"
"Yeah, but this is like above and beyond. You're talking about..." Mark lowered his voice, as if profanity was still taboo at this point, "...fucking."
Helen shrugged again, and sipped her wine. " Well as long as we remember I'm still your mother, and nobody comes down with any guilt-trips, but neither us are the guilty type. I think it'll be dirty fun. It's gonna be fun teasing you." She grinned impishly.
"I had no idea you were like this, mum.
"Well you still have no idea what i'm like," Helen smirked, " but it looks like you're beginning to find out."
"If anybody finds out about this, we'll both be up the creek."
Heln exhaled a sharp jet of smoke. "You got that, so whatever happens we better both make damn sure it stays between us OK."
Another thoughtful silence.
"So when do we start?", Mark asked.
"When you say the word. Did you bring any books home tonight?"
Mark shook his head with a sheepish smile.
"Are you going to bring any books home tomorrow?"
"Think I'll bring them all home tomorrow."
Helen leaned back on the couch with a big smile. "That's what I thought."
As might be expected, dinner that evening was somewhat awkward. Mark picked hesitantly at his pasta. He just couldn't settle down, and just as he'd start to relax he'd think of the delights he might earn in the next few months, and the whole process began again. He was getting exhausted just sitting.
"So mum, I've been thinking."
"Hm. I bet you have. 'Bout what?"
"Well, I was wondering, I mean, I know I didn't do any studying today, but I thought maybe I, um, might possibly get a study break tonight, ya know? Um, as, a nice gesture?" Mark forced what he hoped was a charming, mum-melting grin. He knew he was already pushing his luck, but the urge to start translating this deal into reality was irresistible. Part of him was deathly afraid his mother might already be having second thoughts.
Helen smiled. She speared a single pasta shell with her fork, turned it over between thumb and forefinger, and gently pulled the shell off of the tines with her pearly teeth.
Christ, her son thought, she can even eat sexy.
"I've never been good at saying no to you when you're being so cute. Tonight before bed, you'll get your first study break."
Mark closed his eyes and sighed with relief.
"Mum, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not really too hungry tonight. It's not your cooking, it's just my stomach is just a little jumpy."
"Oh,", Helen said, her eyes suddenly wide with apparent concern. "If you're sick tonight, maybe we should skip the study break."
If he'd hadn't been so immediately alarmed at her words, Mark might have noticed the knowing sing-song lilt his mother had used speaking them. "No no no! I'll be fine! I just don't wanna antagonize it right now."
"I understand darling. Pasta makes great leftovers anyway. Tell you what, why don't you go amuse yourself for a while. I have some reading I want to do. I'll drop in to your room before I go to bed."
Feeling fairly dismissed, Mark rose and stood before his mother. She was so pretty and savvy and dirty-sweet, he wanted to sweep her up out of the chair and smother her with kisses. For the moment, he contented himself with a hug and a peck on the cheek.
"Hey, I'd say we're a little beyond that stage, don't you think? Now come here..."
Helen pulled her son's face close to her own. Mark puckered instantly, and was wet with his mother's lips. Not torrid, this kiss, but hotter and more intimate than mothers and sons are supposed to kiss. Mark felt his face flush, and his heart skip madly again.
They parted slowly their lips making a delicious wet sound. Mother and son looked into each others' smiling eyes, until Mark could stand it no longer, and grasped his mother behind her neck for one last, rougher clinch.
Mark thought perhaps he'd finally gone to far, but he needn't have worried. Helen smiled when they disengaged. "That's more like it. Now go, I'll catch you later." She gave Mark a playful swat on the arse as he left to sweat out the seconds before bed time.
Later...
Mark lay on his bed. The anticipation was electric. His mother had just dropped by his room to announce that she was just about ready for bed, and that he should "get comfortable".
Soon, Helen reappeared at his doorway.
"Ready for your freebie?" she asked with a smile.
"Are you k**ding?"
"Mmmmkay. Oil or lotion?"
"Er, mum?"
Helen laughed. "Old habits die hard. Do you want me to use baby oil or hand lotion on you, hon?"
"Oh." Mark subconsciously assumed his mother would simply jerk him off dry. That's how he usually did it. He pondered the question a moment. In truth, both choices sounded fantastic.
"Uh, lotion please."
Helen winked. "Lotion it is then.". His mother disappeared briefly, and returned with a bottle of hand lotion, and a towel.
She sure has this planned out, Mark thought to himself.
Helen made to swing his desk chair around, but Mark interrupted. "Can you sit on the bed mum?"
"Mmm, I think so." Helen tried sitting with her legs off to the side, but that required both an uncomfortable twist and a somewhat precarious lean over her son's crotch, considering her hands would be busy. In the end, she simply knelt straddling Mark's legs, which Mark found very nice indeed, despite the fact that his mother had chosen none-too-revealing bed clothes this evening. She wore emerald green silky pajamas and rather attractive, but left a lot to the imagination.
As his mother was placing the towel and bottles to handy positions beside her, Mark asked, his voice breathy with mounting excitement: "Mum, can I see your tits when you do it?"
Helen made an comic show of indecision, looking ceilingward and rubbing her chin. Clearly, a question like this had been anticipated. "Ummmm, no." she replied cheerfully. "Nope, I think that's a B level privilege at least. Yup, B for boobs, definitely."
Mark smiled and shrugged. "Fair enough."
Helen hovered over her son, looking downward into his eyes, searching them. Mark returned the gaze, and he ran his hands slowly over his mother's thighs, savoring the smooth tautness of them beneath the filmy material. Both knew The Point of No Return had been reached.
"Nothing to it but to do it, darling." Mark drew a sharp breath as he felt the backs of his mother's long, slender fingers grasp his (very tented) boxers. "May I have the honor?'
"Please." Mark whispered hoarsely, for any more elaborate response was beyond him at the moment.
Helen lifted herself up on her knees a little, curled her fingers, and pulled down on her son's last remaining garment. Mark hoisted his arse a little to help. When his head snagged the elastic, Helen simply yanked harder, which made Mark's cock pivot upward and snap back against his waist with an obscenely meaty smack.
And there they were. He was naked before his mother. The body warmed air in his tiny bedroom felt strangely cool. Mark felt free and exhilarated.
"Mmmm", Helen purred, looking down evaluating her son's member. "Seven inches? Close to it, anyway. A little lean, nice and veiny, but well proportioned. Very well." She looked up at her son. "That's a fine tool, love. You have a beautiful cock."
Mark smiled proudly. His mother flipped the nozzle of the hand lotion bottle open, and very carefully dripped the cream onto her son's cock. Mark gasped and flinched as every drip touched; the cream felt like icy pinpricks to his superheated cock, though they warmed quickly.
"Cold, mmm? Poor darling. I think we can fix that", she said with a subtle smile. Helen coated her palms with the same lotion, rubbed her hands together briefly, and reached down.
Mark saw his mother's hands descend in slow motion. He moaned softly as Helen began to smear the mess of hand cream around with two of her fingertips. Two fingertips became three, which became her whole fist, and then both. Helen wrapped both of her lotion-slicked fists around her son's steel-hard cock and slowly began to pump. Mark closed his eyes, threw his head back and writhed and moaned in utter ecstasy. The waves of pleasure now over-torquing his nerves demanded his body try to dissipate it with movement and vocalization. It was not a choice, it was a primal, chemical imperative.
"That's it, darling. Feel your mummy's hands on your cock." Helen whispered huskily. "Do you want mummy to play with your balls?"
Mark gasped, barely able to speak. He grasped his mother's thighs instinctively for something to hold on to and the room around him rolled and pitched. "No...my shaft mum. Just the shaft."
"My darling baby boy knows what he likes." Helen used both fists, one on top of the other, pumping her son in earnest now. Each pump made their hot creamy flesh sclertch together obscenely.
Mark could feel it already, the first tingling that heralded orgasm. He would reflect later that the sensation was not unlike that he experienced with a first drink of alcohol. It always began in his shoulders and thighs, and soon it would race toward his loins, and then...
Too soon. Too soon! He felt orgasm barreling to overtake him like a freight train, utterly beyond his power to divert or slow. At that moment he fully knew that his mother was in total control of the pleasure he was receiving, She was flipping a switches deep in his body he had no access too, even while masturbating himself. He was just coming along for the ride.
"Oh God mum!", he moaned, "I'm gonna cum !!!!"
Helen's delicate fists raced up and down her son's shaft quicker now, almost blurring. "Let it go, baby!" She whispered hoarsely. "Let all your cum go for mummy!"
That did it.
Mark's body heaved, and he groaned like he'd been stabbed. Only by Herculean effort did he avoid pitching his mother off the bed. His loins unloaded in a rush, ejaculation ramped up upon ejaculation until they were almost one indistinguishable streak of semen.
The first barrage impacted squarely on Mark's face, though he barely noticed from the tsunami of orgasm washing over him. Helen noticed though, and with a startled squawk cupped one of her hands over the tip of her son's spasming cock while still fisting it madly with the other.
Mark moaned and shouted as he unburdened himself in his mother's hands. After eternal moments of pleasure and agony almost indistinguishable, Mark felt the storm subside. One last dollop of cum escaped his cock, so bereft of energy it merely dripped down his mother's knuckles. Mark's body relaxed at last, and he fell back against his bed, drinking great, ragged lung fulls of air.
Helen struggled to control her own breathing as she surveyed the aftermath. Her son was splattered with his own semen. Her hands dripped with it. She grabbed towel, and carefully cleaned them both. After cleaning her son's face, she gently kissed him on the lips.
"Wanna talk a little?"
"Sure, love to Mum." Mark smiled dreamily. The gray endorphin haze had completely dissolved, and he could think again.
Helen wheeled Mark's desk chair around to face the bed. She lit a cigarette. Her son watched her, entranced.
"So, what did you think of your study break? Your mother give you a good handjob, or what?"
"Oh God, Mum, that was incredible. Absolutely incredible. I can't tell you."
"I'm glad you liked it, darling. There's more where that came from."
Mother and son then spent a number of quiet moments simply looking at each other fondly. Neither was in the mood to force conversation. Long pauses, in other circumstances awkward, seemed comfortable in the afterglow. Mark was certainly in no mind to rush anything. His mother's hands had made him feel as exquisitely empty and satisfied as he ever had in his life. Yet, there was once small nagging question in the back of his mind that had resurfaced now that he was not overwhelmed with pleasure to the exclusion of all other feeling and thought.
"Mum, what made you think to ask me 'oil or lotion' before?"
Helen took a thoughtful drag on her cigarette, and blew a cone of smoke into her son's room. Mark didn't mind at all. "Old habit. I used to ask men that a lot, under similar circumstances."
That sounds interesting, Mark thought.
"Really? Why?"
"Well, I'm not sure you're ready for...", Helen began, and recalled the act committed between her and her son moments before. She laughed and almost smacked herself in the forehead.
"I used to work at a massage parlor, honey. That what the girls do there. Well, mostly."
"Whoa. Wow, mum."
Helen grinned. "I told you you had no idea what a wild c***d I am."
Helen crushed out her cigarette, and, to her son's delight. He was enjoying the unexpected and fascinating glimpse of a shady peripheral world he could only heretofore have imagined, and could not have ever imagined his mother being a part of. Not to mention that the dirty talk was devilish fun.
"Okay, so, what was on the menu at this massage parlour besides hand jobs?"
"Well, there was what they call a 'breast release'. Basically, you oil up your tits, and the guy fucks your cleavage." Helen hefted her modest mammories through her nightshirt. "These have had a few jerk off in, they do look cute splattered with jizz.". Helen giggled at the new bar of filthy shamelessness she'd just raised.
Dear God, Mark thought warmly, what a woman.
"So that was it? Hand jobs and tit jobs?"
"No, of course not. Frequent fliers got special privileges."
"Did you ever have any frequent fliers, mum?"
Helen smirked. "Yup, quite a few."
"And you...", Mark began hesitantly.
"Yeah, darling, I sucked and fucked them. So, now you know your mother was a whore. That bother you?"
The truth was, Mark had mixed feelings about the subject, though he couldn't pin anything down just yet.
"No, I guess not. Not if it doesn't bother you. Why'd you quit?"
"Your Dad. When we broke up, I didn't want anything to get between you and me, k**do."
Mark ignored the part about his father. From what little he had gathered, his father was a lout he'd never gotten to know, anyway. Mark had no interest in him. His mother was infinitely more vibrant in his life.
"Ever think about doing it again?"
Heln suddenly looked aghast. "Are you suggesting your own mother take up whoring again!?"
Mark flinched at the sudden, unexpected vehemence.
Helen smiled and waved in the air. 'Honey, I'm sorry. I was teasing. It didn't bother me then, and it wouldn't bother me now. Do you think a little whoring would bother a woman that can jerk off her own k**? Yeah, I've thought of it. Once and a while. The money would be nice. I just don't think most men are into old birds."
"Good points", Mark conceded, "...except for the last part. Come on, you're nowhere near an old bird, Mum. You're still hot as hell. You know that, don't you?"
Helen smiled shyly. It was the first time in recent memory Mark had seen her demure. It was adorable. "Yeah I guess so. It's just nice to hear it from somebody else."
Helen lost herself in thought for a few moments, then, noticing her cigarette burning low, snubbed it out and collected the handjob paraphernalia. "I think I'll head for bed, darling. You must be about ready to pass out."
During the course of the conversion, Mark's cock had pulsed slowly into wavering erection again. As Janet turned to leave, Mark cleared his throat and nodded toward his renewed prong. "Mum, could you take care of me again before you go?"
His mother smiled and shook her head. "Sorry baby, once a day. Them's the rules. But here..." Helen set the hand cream bottle on the desk beside Mark's bed, blew her son a silent kiss and went to bed.
They say a man can't fall asleep with a hard on. They are wrong. Mark briefly contemplated the pros and cons of taking matters into his own hands when exhaustion finally overtook him, and he passed into the deepest, dreamless sleep he'd experienced for some time. It was a measure just how exhausted he was that he did not even stir when his mother brought herself to screaming, moaning, utterly unhinged orgasm down the hall scant minutes later.
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