Mommy Mind Control Chapter 1 Mommy s Naughty Lesson
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One day, goofing around on the internet, I came upon a list of things men love and women hate. First thing on the list: professional wrestling. I'll leave it to you to judge the accuracy of the observation, but it did give rise to this story.
This was initially conceived of as a multi-chapter tale, but I liked the way it ended and decided, for the moment, to stick with it as written. Let me know what you think. End here? Add Pamela? Her friends? Milla and William? Somebody else? Something else? I tried to leave it open for additional chapters.
As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * * *
After we'd loaded her car with clean clothes and a couple of extra servings of the evening's meal, Pam, home for Sunday dinner, and I were standing in the driveway, chatting, taking our time. Pam was in no hurry to get back to her text books and I, well Pam and I were laughing about my having to explain to my husband yet again that no, I did not want to watch Wrestlemania.
"I don't know Mom, you could tell him all those buff guys turn you on, it might inspire him to get back in shape."
"I fear it will take more than that. But maybe I should watch, even Todd turned him down."
"Yeah, what's up with my baby brother? He barely said good-bye. What's this big school assignment he has to turn in tomorrow?"
"I don't know, this was the first time he mentioned it."
I glanced over my daughter's shoulder, covered by the light brown hair that reached the middle of her back, to my son's second floor window. The light was off, and although he could be working on his computer in the dark, there was none of the tell-tale flickering light that signaled his computer was on.
What was he doing up there? Masturbating? Not for this long. Maybe he'd fallen asleep, but if he was sleepy he'd have said so. It wasn't like he was avoiding his sister, the two of them had always gotten along. I was lucky that way.
I kissed Pam good night, watched her drive away, entered the house. My husband was sitting in the living room watching Wrestlemania on the HD flat screen television we'd purchased for last year's Wrestlemania.
He patted the chair next to his. "Hey honey, why don't you join me. Big match coming up."
As I followed his gesture I saw something rarely seen, my son's cell phone not in the possession of my son. Thinking this the perfect excuse to escape Wrestlemania and check on Todd without appearing to be spying, I picked up the phone and said, "In a minute honey, let me bring Todd his phone first."
My husband, whose focus had turned back to the television, said "Okay, tell him Cena's up next."
The upstairs hallway light was off; no light showed under Todd's door. Was he asleep? I tapped on the door, then again, and, sans response, cracked it open, thinking I'd make sure he was breathing and leave the cell phone on his desk.
What I saw was my son, ear buds in, music playing, staring at the window of his friend William's bedroom, who lived next door. He was also playing with himself. What the hell was going on? While William's light was on and his blinds open, from the standing position I couldn't see into his room, but realized I could from the hall bathroom. Time for some mommy-investigation. I closed the door.
From the bathroom the answer was clear and disturbing, my son was a peeping-tom. William and a woman were on his bed in the doggy position, their bodies twisting together. Whoever she was, she was squirming in delight and you could see why. William rode her like a bronco buster.
It had been years since I'd been fucked like that. Well, maybe I'd never been fucked quite like that. I wondered what Milla, Williams's mother and my friend, would do if she knew her son was screwing some woman in the house. I checked for her car. It was in the driveway, she must be out with friends. I looked back to William's window.
And while I'm not advocating for peeping-toms, I understood the allure. What was going on was intoxicating.
They were both coming. Even with their and my window closed it felt like I could hear their screams as their sweat soaked bodies shook, fell forward, slumped onto the bed. William crawled forward and slid an arm around the woman, held her to him. Good for him, he knew to cuddle after sex. On the rare occasions we still did it, my husband was far more interested in returning to the television or checking his tablet then holding his wife.
I needed to stop spying; this was wrong. I was about to back out of the room, I really was, when the woman moved; she was getting out of bed. Overcome with curiosity, I kept watching. Her body was firm and nice, but not that of a teenager. Who was she? She stood, grabbed a light robe from atop a chair, slipped it on, then turned towards the window.
And, too stunned to move, I watched Milla, incandescent smile on her face, stretch her arms, walk back to her son, who was now sitting up, kiss his lips, say something. They smiled. He kept his eyes on her butt as she left the room.
The cell phone in my hand, which I'd all but forgotten, rang.
Thinking, "Oh fuck," I laid it on the bathroom counter, bolted out the door, ducked into my bedroom, started to close the door, then stopped, safely hidden by the dark when Todd emerged from his bedroom, ear buds out, wearing only underpants. Cocking his head, he followed the sound to the bathroom, emerged talking into his phone. When he shut his bedroom door I hurried downstairs.
I was fetching my husband a beer, trying to get hold of my thoughts, my mind on the steady burn between my legs, when Todd said, "Hey dad, did you bring my phone upstairs, I thought I left it down here."
"You did son, your Mom brought it up to you."
I came out of the kitchen. "Hey honey."
"Hi Mom. Did you bring my phone upstairs?"
"Sure did, but I noticed your light was out so I tapped on your door a couple of times. When you didn't respond I figured you were sleeping so I left it in the bathroom. Is everything okay? How did the assignment go?"
"Everything's great. The assignment turned out to be easier than I anticipated. I'm going out to hang with some friends."
* * * * *
I needed to be fucked.
"Honey, I'll watch Wrestlemania with you, but sit on the couch with me."
"But this is my favorite chair."
"I know, but I'd like to cuddle."
With an exasperated, "Okay," he joined me. I leaned into him, touched his leg, rubbed his neck, got an occasional, "Honey, I'm trying to concentrate," or, "I could use another beer."
After the Undertaker was carried out of the ring in triumph we went upstairs to our bedroom, where he pulled the clothes off his uninspiring body and said, "Honey, I know you're in the mood, but I'm pooped," got into bed, fell asleep, snored.
Downstairs, vibrator in my pocket, I picked up the den, said good night to Todd when he came home, sat on the couch, and, replaying William and Milla in my head, brought myself off.
* * * * *
"Hey neighbors."
I'd been watching Milla and William from the kitchen window, now I stepped onto the front porch.
William said, "Hey Ms. Porter, sorry, gotta run," kissed his mother's cheek, got into his car, backed out of the driveway.
Milla, happy smile on her face (who wouldn't be happy after the way she'd been fucked), said, "Care to join me for a cup of coffee Natalie?"
* * * * *
Sitting in Milla's back yard I looked over her shoulder. My bedroom had an unobstructed view. Had my son stood also there and spied on our neighbors?
"Same as ususal, a little bit of skim?"
I said, "Yes, please."
At 39 Milla was two years older than me and taller, maybe five foot nine inches to my five foot three, with striking long legs. Otherwise we had similar builds: slender with slim shoulders and hips, flat stomachs, small breasts and butt cheeks. She'd also trimmed up, she was lean, nicely muscled.
After handing me my cup she sat down, her eyes a rare, and spectacular, green-blue in color, her brown hair cut short and stylish, her voice husky.
"Milla you look great, have you been working out?"
"It's kind of you to notice. I've been making a point to get to the gym. I've lost a few pounds; I feel stronger."
"It's working. I'm afraid I've gotten a bit lackadaisical about that."
"I'm always looking for a work-out buddy, care to join me? I'm going later today."
I ran my schedule through my head, thought about how good she looked, how good she'd looked naked last night, wondered whether if I trimmed up my husband would be more attentive, said, "I'd love to."
Now, as you can imagine, there was one topic I wanted to talk about, her and William, but had enough sense not to jump right in, instead waiting for the appropriate moment. It arrived when she asked about Todd. Leaving out the peeping-tom part, I recounted recent events and said all was okay, which was true. Unlike William, neither Todd nor his sister had ever given me much trouble.
Then I said, maybe a little too eagerly, "You and William were getting along swimmingly this morning. Just a few months ago you two were fighting constantly."
Her face lit up. "Yeah, it got pretty bad. Then one day we were arguing and I was tired and frustrated and I just burst out crying, sobbing really. I was at the end of my rope, inconsolable, and he just held me, didn't try to talk me out of it, just held me. It was exactly what I needed. It was like, in that moment he realized I was not the mannequin he'd caricatured as oppressor-mom, but a human being, one he cared about, one he loved, one whose needs were important to him. He stopped doing those stupid teenage things, casually lying, rolling his eyes when I spoke, avoiding my questions, treating household chores as if he were Sisyphus, withholding information, disregarding my needs and schedules; now he's honest, he listens, is respectful. The mother-son conflict just melted away; he's an adult and I treat him like an adult, but it's also like he's still eleven, when we were best friends. Now we are again, but as grown-ups."
Friends with some very special benefits, I thought.
* * * * *
Over the last year my friendship with Milla had deteriorated, her endless complaining about William growing repetitive and wearying. Now our friendship was reborn; Milla was upbeat, optimistic, energetic, joyful, and vibrant. The primary source of her misery had not only morphed into a source of support, but was satiating her most fundamental need. And believe me, I knew the frustration that came when that went unsatisfied.
I joined Milla at the gym that day, started doing so regularly. We'd go out for lunch or to shop or for a cup of coffee and, while I didn't peep into her windows at night, I checked out the two of them in their backyard or coming out the front door. They took evident joy in each other's company, listened to each other, offered each other affectionate and respectful courtesies, and, most nights, the lights were turned off early.
I probed, mentioning the men at the gym who hit on her.
"I guess if Mr. Right came along that would be great, but the fact is I don't believe in Mr. Right anymore; is there really a man who will complete us, do we need a man to complete us? I'm in a good place; I like my job, getting back to the gym has done wonders with how I feel, I have good friends, and with William and I having worked things out, my biggest stressor has become my biggest pleasure. Yeah, I'd like a companion who knew his way between the sheets, but let's face it, men our age are chasing twenty-something tale, older guys are interested but can't perform, and while most twenty-something guys have serious MILF fantasies, they can't trust them to keep their mouths shut."
I noted, but did not mention, that she'd left out twenty-somethings who could.
I saw her point. While frustrated with my husband, I liked my life; I wasn't interested in blowing up my marriage and I certainly didn't imagine Mr. Perfect swooping in to replace him. But I did need to be wanted, fucked, cuddled.
* * * * *
Todd, if not my husband, noticed Milla's increased presence in my life. I'd get home from the gym and he'd say, "Looking good Mom. You and Ms. Jovanovic hanging again?"
"Yeah, she's got me working out regularly. What do you think?"
"As I said Mom, looking great."
* * * * *
I decided to make a new effort with my husband; I dressed up, pampered him, played the seductress, even watched wrestling. Still, our love-making remained s**ttered and intermittent; his interest and performance quick, perfunctory, and cursory, and when done he'd roll over and turn on the television.
I kept my vow not to spy on Milla and William making love, although I thought about it constantly and kept tabs. They usually slept in her bedroom; visits to his old bedroom were special occasions.
And then one Wednesday evening when my husband and I were watching a movie on television, something sweet and romantic, something I hoped would put him in the mood, Todd popped in, said he had a big assignment, double-checked to make sure he had his phone, headed upstairs. He was way too excited to be doing homework. It was not the first time I'd seen this behavior, not the first time I figured he was watching Milla and William. When my husband asked me to get him a beer I ducked outside to check the window, Todd's was dark, William's lit and blinds open.
When I returned with the beer Francis fumbled with the remote control. I looked at the screen, he was watching Raw. He said he was just checking on the wrestling, that he wanted to watch the movie, but there was an unhappy whine to his voice. We both knew what he wanted, we both knew he wanted me to know what he wanted, he wanted to watch wrestling.
What was the point?
I handed him the beer. "I thought Raw was on Monday night?"
"It is, this is a re-run of one I saw a few weeks back, we get it through the WWE Network. It was a good one."
"Are you at the beginning?"
"Yes."
I had lots of time. "Well honey, if it's one you really liked, why don't you go ahead and watch. I have a few things I need to do upstairs."
"You sure you don't mind?"
I kissed the top of his head, "No dear, I'm fine."
The light in the upstairs hallway was off, the light in my son's room off. I flipped my bedroom light on, closed the door, ducked into the bathroom.
Milla, naked, her lean body on full display, was crawling up what I assumed were her son's legs -- my angle cut off his head. She straddled him, took hold of his erection, sank down, her sex engulfed the shaft. When she reached bottom she rotated her hips, moving him around inside, enjoying being stuffed with eager hard dick.
They ground their bodies together, pleasing themselves, pleasing each other. She leaned forward, fed her son a breast. One of his hands was on her back, holding her to him as he worked tit-flesh with lips, tongue, and mouth. I imagined him licking the nipple, rolling it against his teeth. She moved, offered him the other breast, tightened the muscles of her ass, squeezed his cock. He slid his hand down her back, cupped her butt, moved her up and down, his thick erection, shiny with pussy juice, sliding in and out of her.
I touched my breast through my shirt and bra, thumbed the hard nipple. I wanted to be fucked the way William fucked his mother. My son should be taking notes, he could be learning how to do this right.
Milla sat back up, lifted herself off William's cock, which flopped against his chest, pirouetted around, and moved to the foot of the bed. He followed and, on all fours, straddled him, her face over his cock, and, amazing, in light of his prodigious size, took half of him in her mouth.
I pushed my fingers under my belt and thumbed my clit.
Milla bobbed her head on her son's dick, ground her small tight ass on William's face. He, hands on her ass cheeks, ate her with fervid intensity.
Shit, my son was learning from the best.
As their oral assault continued I worked my clit, moved a finger inside myself, then another, found my g-spot. The action next door escalated, two co-ordinated conjoined gyrating bodies rocketing towards mind-bending orgasms. I brought myself to the edge, held myself there, wanting to come when they did. Then William's head rocked back, he issued an unheard scream, and exploded in his mother's mouth. Milla's cheeks bulged, then her cunt erupted. As she issued her own scream cum dribbled down her chin. I twisted my nipple, dug my fingers inside my body, came, muffling my libidinous moan in my shoulder.
Slumped against the window, juice dripping down my leg, orgasm reverberating through my body, I knew I needed to get out of there, but my legs were shaky, my mind frazzled. Like Todd, I was guilty of spying on our neighbors, but fuck, who wouldn't want to watch that intense carnal display.
And then my son, wearing boxers, his dick half-hard, stepped into the bathroom.
"Ohmigod Mom, I didn't know, sorry, door, unlocked."
Then he saw my hand in my pants, glanced at the window, realized I hadn't been going to the bathroom, but had been doing exactly what he'd been doing, masturbating while spying on the neighbors. His dick started to harden.
Taking a second to gather my thoughts, I said, "It's okay son, we need to talk, but first," I pointed to his now fully erect penis, "you best take care of that."
* * * * *
I ran a washcloth over my pubes -- that felt good -- cleaned my hands and face, combed my hair, touched-up my make-up, went downstairs, told my husband, throughly engrossed in Raw, that Todd and I were going to the coffee shop to review his homework.
"That's fine dear."
I still don't know whether he heard me.
* * * * *
"How long have you known?"
"Three weeks ago, the night of Wrestlemania. You left your cell phone downstairs. I brought it up to you, mostly to avoid the wrestling. I knocked, you didn't answer, your light was out. I figured you were asleep so I cracked your door open to leave it on your desk. Instead I saw you watching them, your ear buds were in."
"I remember, I thought something odd was going on that night. That story about leaving the phone in the bathroom didn't make sense."
I smiled. "Odder than your friend and his mother getting it on?"
I didn't mean for it to come out that vulgar, but I liked the sound of it. The memory of Milla and William replaying in my mind, I felt vulgar.
My son paused, then said, "You mean odder than your friend and her son getting it on? I used to think so, now I'm not so sure."
"What do you mean?"
"I first saw them about three months ago, it freaked me out, but I couldn't stop watching, and the more I watched, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed okay. They're not hurting anyone and all William used to do is bitch about his mother. Now they get along great, it's like they're best friends."
"Friends with benefits," I smirked.
"Something like that. You're not going to tell anyone?"
"What do you mean?"
"I wouldn't want Ms. Jovanovic or William to get in trouble."
Having no idea whom I would tell, I said, "No, I won't, they're adults, this is between them. I should tell on you for watching, there are laws about that y'know. You've been a bad boy."
"Yeah, but then you'd have to tell on yourself."
"Yeah, there's that."
He snaked his hand into mine and said, "Next time try watching from my room. The view is much better. What do you think of them?"
Deciding not to confirm his observation that their happy sexual relationship was just part of a happy personal relationship, or that watching them, or thinking about watching them, turned me on, I said, "It's a shock. You don't think about mothers and sons like that, but you're right, they're not harming anyone."
This was initially conceived of as a multi-chapter tale, but I liked the way it ended and decided, for the moment, to stick with it as written. Let me know what you think. End here? Add Pamela? Her friends? Milla and William? Somebody else? Something else? I tried to leave it open for additional chapters.
As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * * *
After we'd loaded her car with clean clothes and a couple of extra servings of the evening's meal, Pam, home for Sunday dinner, and I were standing in the driveway, chatting, taking our time. Pam was in no hurry to get back to her text books and I, well Pam and I were laughing about my having to explain to my husband yet again that no, I did not want to watch Wrestlemania.
"I don't know Mom, you could tell him all those buff guys turn you on, it might inspire him to get back in shape."
"I fear it will take more than that. But maybe I should watch, even Todd turned him down."
"Yeah, what's up with my baby brother? He barely said good-bye. What's this big school assignment he has to turn in tomorrow?"
"I don't know, this was the first time he mentioned it."
I glanced over my daughter's shoulder, covered by the light brown hair that reached the middle of her back, to my son's second floor window. The light was off, and although he could be working on his computer in the dark, there was none of the tell-tale flickering light that signaled his computer was on.
What was he doing up there? Masturbating? Not for this long. Maybe he'd fallen asleep, but if he was sleepy he'd have said so. It wasn't like he was avoiding his sister, the two of them had always gotten along. I was lucky that way.
I kissed Pam good night, watched her drive away, entered the house. My husband was sitting in the living room watching Wrestlemania on the HD flat screen television we'd purchased for last year's Wrestlemania.
He patted the chair next to his. "Hey honey, why don't you join me. Big match coming up."
As I followed his gesture I saw something rarely seen, my son's cell phone not in the possession of my son. Thinking this the perfect excuse to escape Wrestlemania and check on Todd without appearing to be spying, I picked up the phone and said, "In a minute honey, let me bring Todd his phone first."
My husband, whose focus had turned back to the television, said "Okay, tell him Cena's up next."
The upstairs hallway light was off; no light showed under Todd's door. Was he asleep? I tapped on the door, then again, and, sans response, cracked it open, thinking I'd make sure he was breathing and leave the cell phone on his desk.
What I saw was my son, ear buds in, music playing, staring at the window of his friend William's bedroom, who lived next door. He was also playing with himself. What the hell was going on? While William's light was on and his blinds open, from the standing position I couldn't see into his room, but realized I could from the hall bathroom. Time for some mommy-investigation. I closed the door.
From the bathroom the answer was clear and disturbing, my son was a peeping-tom. William and a woman were on his bed in the doggy position, their bodies twisting together. Whoever she was, she was squirming in delight and you could see why. William rode her like a bronco buster.
It had been years since I'd been fucked like that. Well, maybe I'd never been fucked quite like that. I wondered what Milla, Williams's mother and my friend, would do if she knew her son was screwing some woman in the house. I checked for her car. It was in the driveway, she must be out with friends. I looked back to William's window.
And while I'm not advocating for peeping-toms, I understood the allure. What was going on was intoxicating.
They were both coming. Even with their and my window closed it felt like I could hear their screams as their sweat soaked bodies shook, fell forward, slumped onto the bed. William crawled forward and slid an arm around the woman, held her to him. Good for him, he knew to cuddle after sex. On the rare occasions we still did it, my husband was far more interested in returning to the television or checking his tablet then holding his wife.
I needed to stop spying; this was wrong. I was about to back out of the room, I really was, when the woman moved; she was getting out of bed. Overcome with curiosity, I kept watching. Her body was firm and nice, but not that of a teenager. Who was she? She stood, grabbed a light robe from atop a chair, slipped it on, then turned towards the window.
And, too stunned to move, I watched Milla, incandescent smile on her face, stretch her arms, walk back to her son, who was now sitting up, kiss his lips, say something. They smiled. He kept his eyes on her butt as she left the room.
The cell phone in my hand, which I'd all but forgotten, rang.
Thinking, "Oh fuck," I laid it on the bathroom counter, bolted out the door, ducked into my bedroom, started to close the door, then stopped, safely hidden by the dark when Todd emerged from his bedroom, ear buds out, wearing only underpants. Cocking his head, he followed the sound to the bathroom, emerged talking into his phone. When he shut his bedroom door I hurried downstairs.
I was fetching my husband a beer, trying to get hold of my thoughts, my mind on the steady burn between my legs, when Todd said, "Hey dad, did you bring my phone upstairs, I thought I left it down here."
"You did son, your Mom brought it up to you."
I came out of the kitchen. "Hey honey."
"Hi Mom. Did you bring my phone upstairs?"
"Sure did, but I noticed your light was out so I tapped on your door a couple of times. When you didn't respond I figured you were sleeping so I left it in the bathroom. Is everything okay? How did the assignment go?"
"Everything's great. The assignment turned out to be easier than I anticipated. I'm going out to hang with some friends."
* * * * *
I needed to be fucked.
"Honey, I'll watch Wrestlemania with you, but sit on the couch with me."
"But this is my favorite chair."
"I know, but I'd like to cuddle."
With an exasperated, "Okay," he joined me. I leaned into him, touched his leg, rubbed his neck, got an occasional, "Honey, I'm trying to concentrate," or, "I could use another beer."
After the Undertaker was carried out of the ring in triumph we went upstairs to our bedroom, where he pulled the clothes off his uninspiring body and said, "Honey, I know you're in the mood, but I'm pooped," got into bed, fell asleep, snored.
Downstairs, vibrator in my pocket, I picked up the den, said good night to Todd when he came home, sat on the couch, and, replaying William and Milla in my head, brought myself off.
* * * * *
"Hey neighbors."
I'd been watching Milla and William from the kitchen window, now I stepped onto the front porch.
William said, "Hey Ms. Porter, sorry, gotta run," kissed his mother's cheek, got into his car, backed out of the driveway.
Milla, happy smile on her face (who wouldn't be happy after the way she'd been fucked), said, "Care to join me for a cup of coffee Natalie?"
* * * * *
Sitting in Milla's back yard I looked over her shoulder. My bedroom had an unobstructed view. Had my son stood also there and spied on our neighbors?
"Same as ususal, a little bit of skim?"
I said, "Yes, please."
At 39 Milla was two years older than me and taller, maybe five foot nine inches to my five foot three, with striking long legs. Otherwise we had similar builds: slender with slim shoulders and hips, flat stomachs, small breasts and butt cheeks. She'd also trimmed up, she was lean, nicely muscled.
After handing me my cup she sat down, her eyes a rare, and spectacular, green-blue in color, her brown hair cut short and stylish, her voice husky.
"Milla you look great, have you been working out?"
"It's kind of you to notice. I've been making a point to get to the gym. I've lost a few pounds; I feel stronger."
"It's working. I'm afraid I've gotten a bit lackadaisical about that."
"I'm always looking for a work-out buddy, care to join me? I'm going later today."
I ran my schedule through my head, thought about how good she looked, how good she'd looked naked last night, wondered whether if I trimmed up my husband would be more attentive, said, "I'd love to."
Now, as you can imagine, there was one topic I wanted to talk about, her and William, but had enough sense not to jump right in, instead waiting for the appropriate moment. It arrived when she asked about Todd. Leaving out the peeping-tom part, I recounted recent events and said all was okay, which was true. Unlike William, neither Todd nor his sister had ever given me much trouble.
Then I said, maybe a little too eagerly, "You and William were getting along swimmingly this morning. Just a few months ago you two were fighting constantly."
Her face lit up. "Yeah, it got pretty bad. Then one day we were arguing and I was tired and frustrated and I just burst out crying, sobbing really. I was at the end of my rope, inconsolable, and he just held me, didn't try to talk me out of it, just held me. It was exactly what I needed. It was like, in that moment he realized I was not the mannequin he'd caricatured as oppressor-mom, but a human being, one he cared about, one he loved, one whose needs were important to him. He stopped doing those stupid teenage things, casually lying, rolling his eyes when I spoke, avoiding my questions, treating household chores as if he were Sisyphus, withholding information, disregarding my needs and schedules; now he's honest, he listens, is respectful. The mother-son conflict just melted away; he's an adult and I treat him like an adult, but it's also like he's still eleven, when we were best friends. Now we are again, but as grown-ups."
Friends with some very special benefits, I thought.
* * * * *
Over the last year my friendship with Milla had deteriorated, her endless complaining about William growing repetitive and wearying. Now our friendship was reborn; Milla was upbeat, optimistic, energetic, joyful, and vibrant. The primary source of her misery had not only morphed into a source of support, but was satiating her most fundamental need. And believe me, I knew the frustration that came when that went unsatisfied.
I joined Milla at the gym that day, started doing so regularly. We'd go out for lunch or to shop or for a cup of coffee and, while I didn't peep into her windows at night, I checked out the two of them in their backyard or coming out the front door. They took evident joy in each other's company, listened to each other, offered each other affectionate and respectful courtesies, and, most nights, the lights were turned off early.
I probed, mentioning the men at the gym who hit on her.
"I guess if Mr. Right came along that would be great, but the fact is I don't believe in Mr. Right anymore; is there really a man who will complete us, do we need a man to complete us? I'm in a good place; I like my job, getting back to the gym has done wonders with how I feel, I have good friends, and with William and I having worked things out, my biggest stressor has become my biggest pleasure. Yeah, I'd like a companion who knew his way between the sheets, but let's face it, men our age are chasing twenty-something tale, older guys are interested but can't perform, and while most twenty-something guys have serious MILF fantasies, they can't trust them to keep their mouths shut."
I noted, but did not mention, that she'd left out twenty-somethings who could.
I saw her point. While frustrated with my husband, I liked my life; I wasn't interested in blowing up my marriage and I certainly didn't imagine Mr. Perfect swooping in to replace him. But I did need to be wanted, fucked, cuddled.
* * * * *
Todd, if not my husband, noticed Milla's increased presence in my life. I'd get home from the gym and he'd say, "Looking good Mom. You and Ms. Jovanovic hanging again?"
"Yeah, she's got me working out regularly. What do you think?"
"As I said Mom, looking great."
* * * * *
I decided to make a new effort with my husband; I dressed up, pampered him, played the seductress, even watched wrestling. Still, our love-making remained s**ttered and intermittent; his interest and performance quick, perfunctory, and cursory, and when done he'd roll over and turn on the television.
I kept my vow not to spy on Milla and William making love, although I thought about it constantly and kept tabs. They usually slept in her bedroom; visits to his old bedroom were special occasions.
And then one Wednesday evening when my husband and I were watching a movie on television, something sweet and romantic, something I hoped would put him in the mood, Todd popped in, said he had a big assignment, double-checked to make sure he had his phone, headed upstairs. He was way too excited to be doing homework. It was not the first time I'd seen this behavior, not the first time I figured he was watching Milla and William. When my husband asked me to get him a beer I ducked outside to check the window, Todd's was dark, William's lit and blinds open.
When I returned with the beer Francis fumbled with the remote control. I looked at the screen, he was watching Raw. He said he was just checking on the wrestling, that he wanted to watch the movie, but there was an unhappy whine to his voice. We both knew what he wanted, we both knew he wanted me to know what he wanted, he wanted to watch wrestling.
What was the point?
I handed him the beer. "I thought Raw was on Monday night?"
"It is, this is a re-run of one I saw a few weeks back, we get it through the WWE Network. It was a good one."
"Are you at the beginning?"
"Yes."
I had lots of time. "Well honey, if it's one you really liked, why don't you go ahead and watch. I have a few things I need to do upstairs."
"You sure you don't mind?"
I kissed the top of his head, "No dear, I'm fine."
The light in the upstairs hallway was off, the light in my son's room off. I flipped my bedroom light on, closed the door, ducked into the bathroom.
Milla, naked, her lean body on full display, was crawling up what I assumed were her son's legs -- my angle cut off his head. She straddled him, took hold of his erection, sank down, her sex engulfed the shaft. When she reached bottom she rotated her hips, moving him around inside, enjoying being stuffed with eager hard dick.
They ground their bodies together, pleasing themselves, pleasing each other. She leaned forward, fed her son a breast. One of his hands was on her back, holding her to him as he worked tit-flesh with lips, tongue, and mouth. I imagined him licking the nipple, rolling it against his teeth. She moved, offered him the other breast, tightened the muscles of her ass, squeezed his cock. He slid his hand down her back, cupped her butt, moved her up and down, his thick erection, shiny with pussy juice, sliding in and out of her.
I touched my breast through my shirt and bra, thumbed the hard nipple. I wanted to be fucked the way William fucked his mother. My son should be taking notes, he could be learning how to do this right.
Milla sat back up, lifted herself off William's cock, which flopped against his chest, pirouetted around, and moved to the foot of the bed. He followed and, on all fours, straddled him, her face over his cock, and, amazing, in light of his prodigious size, took half of him in her mouth.
I pushed my fingers under my belt and thumbed my clit.
Milla bobbed her head on her son's dick, ground her small tight ass on William's face. He, hands on her ass cheeks, ate her with fervid intensity.
Shit, my son was learning from the best.
As their oral assault continued I worked my clit, moved a finger inside myself, then another, found my g-spot. The action next door escalated, two co-ordinated conjoined gyrating bodies rocketing towards mind-bending orgasms. I brought myself to the edge, held myself there, wanting to come when they did. Then William's head rocked back, he issued an unheard scream, and exploded in his mother's mouth. Milla's cheeks bulged, then her cunt erupted. As she issued her own scream cum dribbled down her chin. I twisted my nipple, dug my fingers inside my body, came, muffling my libidinous moan in my shoulder.
Slumped against the window, juice dripping down my leg, orgasm reverberating through my body, I knew I needed to get out of there, but my legs were shaky, my mind frazzled. Like Todd, I was guilty of spying on our neighbors, but fuck, who wouldn't want to watch that intense carnal display.
And then my son, wearing boxers, his dick half-hard, stepped into the bathroom.
"Ohmigod Mom, I didn't know, sorry, door, unlocked."
Then he saw my hand in my pants, glanced at the window, realized I hadn't been going to the bathroom, but had been doing exactly what he'd been doing, masturbating while spying on the neighbors. His dick started to harden.
Taking a second to gather my thoughts, I said, "It's okay son, we need to talk, but first," I pointed to his now fully erect penis, "you best take care of that."
* * * * *
I ran a washcloth over my pubes -- that felt good -- cleaned my hands and face, combed my hair, touched-up my make-up, went downstairs, told my husband, throughly engrossed in Raw, that Todd and I were going to the coffee shop to review his homework.
"That's fine dear."
I still don't know whether he heard me.
* * * * *
"How long have you known?"
"Three weeks ago, the night of Wrestlemania. You left your cell phone downstairs. I brought it up to you, mostly to avoid the wrestling. I knocked, you didn't answer, your light was out. I figured you were asleep so I cracked your door open to leave it on your desk. Instead I saw you watching them, your ear buds were in."
"I remember, I thought something odd was going on that night. That story about leaving the phone in the bathroom didn't make sense."
I smiled. "Odder than your friend and his mother getting it on?"
I didn't mean for it to come out that vulgar, but I liked the sound of it. The memory of Milla and William replaying in my mind, I felt vulgar.
My son paused, then said, "You mean odder than your friend and her son getting it on? I used to think so, now I'm not so sure."
"What do you mean?"
"I first saw them about three months ago, it freaked me out, but I couldn't stop watching, and the more I watched, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed okay. They're not hurting anyone and all William used to do is bitch about his mother. Now they get along great, it's like they're best friends."
"Friends with benefits," I smirked.
"Something like that. You're not going to tell anyone?"
"What do you mean?"
"I wouldn't want Ms. Jovanovic or William to get in trouble."
Having no idea whom I would tell, I said, "No, I won't, they're adults, this is between them. I should tell on you for watching, there are laws about that y'know. You've been a bad boy."
"Yeah, but then you'd have to tell on yourself."
"Yeah, there's that."
He snaked his hand into mine and said, "Next time try watching from my room. The view is much better. What do you think of them?"
Deciding not to confirm his observation that their happy sexual relationship was just part of a happy personal relationship, or that watching them, or thinking about watching them, turned me on, I said, "It's a shock. You don't think about mothers and sons like that, but you're right, they're not harming anyone."
Julianne
- 08.09.2020
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