Claire Kent Alias Super Sister The Return of Superboy
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Mom's Pussy Boy free porn video
From the first time I saw my mom naked, she represents all that is
woman for me. I was five or six and she suggested we shower.
"Wouldn't it be fun if we showered together?" she asked. This
was how she had decided to handled the birds and bees crisis.
"Sure," I said, excited more by the newness of the idea of sharing
the shower than by actually seeing mom naked.
"Then let's take our clothes off." She pulled her sweater off.
"Mommy wears a bra to . . . well . . . " she looked uncomfortable
saying more, and unzipped her skirt. Standing in her white bra,
panties, garter belt, and stockings, she looked down at me, "Well,
young man? Off with your clothes too."
I pulled my tee shirt off, then pushed my pants down and off.
"I've got less on than you," I teased, thinking this was something
of a game.
"Good, take your underpants off and go start the shower."
In a second I was naked and in the shower adjusting the water.
The curtain was pushed aside, and mom stepped in. I looked up
and saw her nervous smile. Then my eyes began to lower.
"Mommy's breasts . . . "
I stared up at them. I was surprised that they were round and as
low on her chest because her bra made them high and almost cone-
like. ". . . they make milk." She touched them like she might touch
something she was just casually pointing out. "It comes out my
nipples." She pinched one. "That's how I breast fed you when
you were a baby."
But I was no taller than her hips, and I couldn't keep from gawking
at the magnificent patch of brown curly hair in front of my face.
Under the shower spray, it formed a perfect v and the water ran off.
I giggled because of the difference between us there. "How do you
pee without one?" I asked, touching her there to see if it was hiding
in her hair. She stood suddenly quite still, like you might if a bee
lands on you and you don't want to get stung. I felt the soft curves
of her mound and the beginnings of her cleft as the flesh formed
two puffy lips.
"Mommy pees down there in her . . . special place . . .but let's
get some soap on us," she added quickly, handing me the soap.
We never showered again; although I asked, it was always the
wrong time. Over the years, I stopped thinking about the shower.
But as puberty arrived, I began to look at mom as a woman, and
the shower became a favorite fantasy.
After breakfast on the weekends, when dad went to work and I
didn't have school, we'd talk and sometimes she would end up
getting dressed with me still chatting away. I was always supposed
to turn my back, and she would step behind a folding screen, but I
often saw her in her white bra and panties, sometimes a slip, and
sometimes, glorious times, she would put her stockings on while
sitting next to me.
One day, after school when no one was home, I went into her
bedroom. I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I smelled her perfumes
and touched her side of the bed. Her top dresser drawer was
slightly open and I suddenly knew the treasure I was looking for. I
pulled it open. There were her neatly folded white panties, bra,
garter belts, and brown rolls of paired stockings. I ran my fingers
over them. They felt especially soft and magical, almost like I was
touching mom. Then I took out the top pair of panties. I unfolded
them, and gazed at their shape, a shape that mimicked mom's, and
that gilded her special place. My fingers tingled when I touched
the thicker crotch panel. "Mommy," I whispered.
I stripped, as if for her. I was naked and aroused, standing in her
bedroom. I wanted her to see me, naked and standing with an
erection, to watch how I stroked myself for her. I looked at myself
in the mirror, to see what she would see. Whenever I had gotten
excited near her, I had hidden myself, ashamed at my arousal and
afraid she would be shocked, but now I stood proud, letting it
swing back and forth, beckoning. I was convinced that she would
love me for it.
Then I put her panties on. As I pulled them up, soft against my
erection, my hands shook. I saw my reflection, flushed with
excitement, wearing mom's white panties. They were so feminine
covering my swollen maleness. I reached down to caress myself,
but with the first touch I gasped, shuddered, and began to squirt,
filling her panties with my sticky come. My knees gave out, and I
sank to the floor.
I don't know how long I just stayed that way. I was dizzy and out
of breath. Then I heard mom come in.
"Teddy, I'm home," she called out.
I grabbed my clothes and dashed as quickly and quietly as I could
to my room. As I dressed I yelled back, "I'm doing my
homework."
Then, as I heard her coming up the stairs, I realized that I only had
one sock...one! My stomach sank, where was the other?
For several weeks I didn't go back to her room. I was afraid of
getting caught, and I knew that if I went back I would have to try
on more of her things. So I stayed in my room fantasizing; after
all, I still had her panties, which had become stiff with dried come,
but they hadn't lost their magic.
The allure was too great. After another month, I was hurrying
home after school every day and getting lost in her room. I wore
her panties, bras, stockings, and baby dolls, which I found in the
back of her closet. I was careful not to squirt in anything I wore,
and I always took paper towels with me to wipe up. I'd fold
everything just like I had found it and sneak out before mom got
home.
One day I decided to get completely dressed up, and put on a skirt
and sweater. To my surprise, and absolute delight, I found stashed
under the sweaters in the deep bottom drawer, a stack of lace
panties in emerald, indigo, scarlet, and black, with matching bras,
garter belts, and stockings. Mom had naughty lingerie!
The next day was a cold, rainy, Saturday. I kept her company in
front of the TV while she folded the laundry. She had a stack of
white panties folded next to her. I had a pillow over my lap as I
kept watching her out of the corner of my eye. I was curious.
Without thinking, I heard myself ask, "How come you don't wear
the sexy ones?"
I felt my face burn with embarrassment as I heard what I had said.
"You know, they advertise sexy stuff on TV," I tried to pretend I
had meant something different than what I had asked.
She didn't say anything more than, "Just 'cause." She picked up
the laundry and went upstairs.
I didn't know if I was in trouble or not. I stayed downstairs, and
tried to watch a bad sci-fi movie, but I couldn't keep from
worrying. So I figured I was safer to hide in my room. I tiptoed
up, and thankful that I hadn't bumped into her, I wasn't thinking as
I walked in.
She was sitting on my bed, holding her come stained panties that I
had forgotten to hide. Tears were running down her face. She
looked up at me and tried to speak, but nothing came out. We
looked at each other. Frozen in time and place.
"Damn you!" she finally yelled, throwing the panties at me. "How
dare you!" She stormed past me and down the hall.
She knew, now, but this was not what I had fantasized, not what I
wanted. I sat on the edge of the bed feeling hollow and pledging
that I'd never go in her room again. I could hear her in her room,
and I tried to explain myself to her in my head.
Suddenly something big and soft hit my head. I was shaken out of
my reverie to see her standing in the doorway and realizing that she
had gathered up most of her lingerie and had thrown it at me.
"You're . . ." she glared, leaving her sentence unfinished, but it
wasn't hard to fill in a hundred apt possibilities.
"Mom-"
"Don't you dare to speak to me." She turned to leave, but hesitated
with her back to me. "Don't."
I waited alone, but knew I had to apologize and make things right
before dad got home. I gathered up her lingerie and carefully
folded everything. "Mom," I said carrying her clothes back to her,
"can I come in? Can we talk?"
Her door was open, and she sat on the edge of the bed, a skirt, the
skirt I had worn, in her hand. "This too?" she asked in a whisper.
I stepped in and went to her dresser. I began to put her clothes
away.
"All my clothes...why?"
"Mom, I love you," I whispered without looking at her.
"My clothes."
"Mom," I looked up at her, "I love you."
"Is this how you show your love?" Her face stiffened.
"Masturbating into your mother's lingerie?"
The words were cold and they stung cruelly, but they were true. I
couldn't salvage much. I felt like slime and I was certain I was a
pervert. But I wasn't going to lie. "Yes."
She looked stunned that I'd admit that.
"I'm only a k**, but I've never felt anything so good." I spoke
quietly, trying to be calm, and looking at her, eye to eye. "I love
wearing your panties and stuff and . . . and . . . masturbating . . .
for you." I stood up and began to leave. I knew I had only made
things worse. "I've . . . ever since we showered and you showed
me your special place," I added.
I lay on my bed. Dad would be home in a couple of hours, late
even for him, but he had a convention to get ready for. So in a
couple of hours, my last hours, I'd feel the wrath I had earned.
"Teddy," mom whispered from the doorway, "may I come in."
I didn't say anything.
She opened my door and came in. She sat next to me. "I'm sorry.
I knew I was wrong then, that was no way to answer your
questions. But . . . "
"But it is one of my best c***dhood memories," I tried to say it so
that although the truth it sounded like I was making light of things.
"And look what it caused." She turned to face me and she ran her
fingers through my hair. "I love you. I'm so sorry, it's my fault."
Her arms wrapped around my back and in spite of the shame I felt
with tears streaming down my face, I buried my face against he
neck as she hugged me to her.
"Is it wrong to . . . masturbate?"
"Oh, no." She pushed me back and caressed my face. "That's not
wrong. It's natural."
"Do you?" I dared.
"Yes."
I looked at her as her face reddened. "But you're married, there's
dad."
"I'm not comfortable talking about this," she stood up, "not with
you. It's not right."
She walked out again. But, at least, I realized, not out of anger at
me. Maybe, I sighed, this wouldn't be the end of my life. And
after a few minutes she was back again, holding a small pile of
clothes.
"I suppose this is better than your getting a girl pregnant or getting
some disease," she whispered putting them on the bed next to me
and left, closing the door after her.
She had given me a complete outfit, skirt and blouse, as well as
stockings, garter belt, panties and bra, and a babydoll with
matching panties. One by one, I carefully unfolded each item and
held it up for admiration. With a sense of surprise and shock and
delight, I realized that they had all been worn.
Too much had happened too quickly for me to feel comfortable
with these gifts, but later, I sighed, later.
Nothing was said at dinner. Mom acted as if everything was
normal, and, of course, I wasn't going to say anything. That night
I put on her babydoll and crawled into bed.
When I came home from school on Monday, I still felt drawn to
mom's bedroom, but I also had her clothes that she had given me
waiting for me in my room. I had folded them neatly and put them
in my dresser, feeling no reason to hide them. But when I opened
the drawer, the first thing I noticed was that the panties had been
changed. In place of the white ones, there was now a pair of
yellow cotton panties, and they too had been worn.
Later, she said nothing to me and I didn't dare ask.
Each day was like this. I found myself hurrying home to see what
she had given me. Sometimes she replaced one pair of panties for
another, sometimes she left something new, but always worn.
Slowly, my collection grew, and it got sexier, colors replaced
whites, laces replaced cotton, naughty replaced utilitarian. But
nothing was ever said between us about any of this. Even on
weekends, when we were alone in the house all day, life continued
as if nothing had ever changed.
One day, a marvelous day, I came home to find a Polaroid picture
in my drawer on top of a pair of pink lace panties. She had taken it
looking down at her lap with her skirt pulled up showing that she
was wearing the pink panties. For a few more weeks, every new
gift was accompanied with a picture showing her wearing whatever
it was, panties, stockings, even a bra.
The last day of school before spring break was also the day dad left
for a two week business trip. I rushed home, now conditioned to
expect something from mom. Curiously, there was nothing new in
my drawer. I thumbed through the stack of lingerie. Tucked
towards the bottom I felt the edge of a Polaroid. One I had missed,
I thought. I remember feeling vaguely disappointed that she had
forgotten me as I pulled it out. It was taken in the shower. Naked,
with the water running down her, she had held the camera out and
aimed it back at herself. It was a picture of her magnificent brown
bush, wet and pointed in the running water, exactly as I
remembered from when I was five or six.
"Mommy," I whispered. I was excited by seeing her . I began to rub the bulge in my pants as I gazed at the
picture, transfixed with awe. "Mommy," I sighed, pressing the
picture to my lips and kissing her there.
How much I wanted to say something when she got home, and
later while we ate dinner. But it was like it always was. Mom
made small talk, asking about school, telling me about dad's trip. I
kept imagining her breasts under her cream blouse and her bush
hidden behind her long floral print skirt. I sat hiding my hard-on
under my napkin, aching to take it out. Finally, when she started
washing the dishes, I could stand up and leave without her seeing
my arousal. I went off to watch TV and take my mind off her
latest gift for a few minutes.
Mom came in and stood in front of me. She had unbraided her
brown hair which hung loose about her shoulders. There were
tears in her eyes and her face was red. "What do I have to do?" she
whispered, her voice cracking. She held the top of her blouse
tightly in her hands. "What?"
She stood there, staring, her chest spasming as she tried to control
her crying. Even with the tears, she was beautiful.
"Do?" I really wasn't sure what she meant. After all, we never
talked about anything really serious, and our last "serious" talk was
when she discovered that I had a thing about her clothes, which
wasn't much of a talk.
"Do!" she yelled at me. "What?"
"Mom, I don't understand."
"This!" she cried. Slowly, trembling, she pulled up her skirt,
above her knees, above the dark tops of her stockings. She was
wearing lacy, ivory colored, panties with a matching garter belt.
While she held her skirt up, her other hand slid inside her panties,
she began to wantonly rub herself, letting her hips gyrate, while
she alternated between moaning and crying.
Suddenly she stopped, frozen. "This is what I have become. A
slut in heat . . . masturbating for you. . . . I want . . . ." She let go of
her skirt, and glared at me. "Damn you!" She stepped closer and
slapped my face. "Damn you."
"Mom?"
She grabbed my hair and pulled hard. I tried to move with her
hand but fell to the floor. As I struggled to get up she knocked me
down.
"You little shit." She leaned down and slapped me.
I grabbed her hand as she tried to slap me again, and she fell on top
of me. She was crying and screaming names at me. "You fucker . .
. asshole . . . bastard, little shit . . . ." I tried to roll over so she
couldn't hit my face, but she rolled with me. In her anger she was
much stronger than me.
We were wrestling. I was struggling to protect myself, and she
was getting wilder. I really hurt from her knees and elbows
jabbing me.
And then she was on top of me, with her knees pinning my
shoulders. She was making growling guttural sounds as she wiped
her hair away from her face, and looked down at me. "Look at
me!" She pulled my ears. "Look!"
Her face was flushed and wet with tears and sweat. Her white
blouse had opened enough that I could see her ivory lace half bra
and the fleshy mounds of her breasts that looked like they could
spill free at any moment. "Mom, I don't understand," I whispered.
"Shut up, you little fucker." She leaned close to my face. "You're
not man enough to understand . . . you're a little sissy, jacking off
in mommy's panties . . . a panty boy . . ." The words stung more
than her slaps had. "Well, panty boy, mommy's had enough."
I began to cry. I was so ashamed of myself, even though she had
encouraged me, I felt like a pervert.
"What does a good panty boy want to be?"
"I don't know," I whispered.
"You don't know?" She gathered up her skirt and raised herself
directly above my face. "A panty boy wants to become a pussy
boy."
I stared up at her crotch. Her scent was hot and pungent.
"That's right, stare at mommy's panties . . . at mommy's cunt," she
growled. "What are you?"
"I'm a panty boy," I sniffled.
"Whose? Say it."
"I'm mommy's panty boy." I could see a wet stain in the crotch of
her panties, and dark wisps of curly hair sticking out. "I want to be
your pussy boy . . . mommy's pussy boy . . . please."
"So you want to be mommy's pussy boy," the words barely more
than grunts, "then mommy's going to fuck your face with her
pussy." She made deep gurgling sounds as she lowered herself to
my face. She began to rub her crotch up and down my face. I
could taste her juices in the wet fabric, and I could feel her puffy
folds and her cleft against my lips and nose. "Eat mommy's cunt."
This wasn't about the niceties of eating pussy. This was fucking
my face with her cunt. She was wild with her lust.
She rode my face, bucking and squirming, as I tried to kiss and lick
her. "Pussy boy . . . pussy boy," she kept calling me. "Do you like
this?" She pulled her panties aside and rubbed her hairy scratchy
pussy up and down my face, hard, making it difficult to even
breath, as she smeared her juices over me. "Do you? Talk about
pussy whipped," she punctuated her words by pushing her hips
forward, causing my nose to slip between her wet inner lips and
my mouth to surround her muscled butt hole. She wiggled back
and forth. "You can't be a man licking mommy's pussy . . ." she
wiggled more, ". . . chewing cunt . . . sucking snatch . . . munching
muff . . . tonguing twat . . . "
She slipped her hand down, and rubbed herself as she rode me to
orgasm. Her stockinged thighs clamped my head and she pressed
down, spasming on my face.
Time stopped as I realized I had made her come. I felt proud.
She stood up, and took her blouse off, then she unzipped her skirt.
In just her lingerie, she sashayed around the room. She giggled
and grinned down at me. She stood over me, wiggling her hips and
rubbing herself all over. "Pussy boy," she whispered as she
unhooked her bra and let it drop to my chest, "do you want more?"
"Yes," I sighed.
"Then take out for me."
I lay there gazing up at her. I wanted her to see how excited I was,
to know what she did to me. I unzipped my pants and released my
cock.
She slid her panties off. "Masturbate for me." She dropped them
over my cock. "Show me what a panty boy does."
As I stared at her bush, I wrapped her panties around my cock and
began to jerk off for her.
She moaned, licked her lips, and rubbed herself. She seemed as
excited watching me as I was watching her.
She knelt beside me, and pulling her panties away from me, she
dragged them over my face. She smiled, "Now you're going to
fuck mommy."
She got on her hands and knees, with her fleshy ass sticking up at
me. The pale globes of her ass, the dark pelt of curly hair that ran
between her legs with the wrinkled pink wings of her inner lips
poking out, and the tan star of her tight asshole. She wiggled her
hips for me. "Do you like mommy special places?"
"Yes." I got behind her, and touched her ass cheeks.
She moaned. Putting her head to the floor, her star-shaped, hole
stared up at me.
"Touch it."
I hesitated . . . touch it . . . it . . . mommy's asshole . . .
"Baby, touch mommy's asshole."
I ran my finger tip over it. It was hard and sticky and it pulsed.
"Yes, yes," she sighed. "Again . . . push it in. Make mommy a
slut. Your slut."
I put my finger to its center and she pushed her ass back. My
finger slipped inside her tight hole.
"Oh, baby . . . yes . . . do my asshole." She began to gyrate against
my finger. "Watch me wiggle and squirm for you."
As I fucked her ass with my finger, I caressed her soft cheeks and
pussy with my other hand.
"Baby . . . give me your cock . . . push it in my cunt."
I yanked my pants off.
"Hurry."
I knelt and pressed my cock between her legs.
"Let mommy," she reached under herself and guided me into her.
My cock slid into her warm moist cunt. "Mommy," I cried.
"Fuck me."
I began to hump her.
"Do my asshole . . . put your finger back in . . . feel your cock in
my pussy . . . I'm your slut . . .your hot bitch cunt . . . your mommy
. . . yes . . . harder . . . fuck mommy. . . ."
Her head nodded back and forth, her hips pumped, and too soon, I
was about to come. "I'm coming."
"Sperm me," she screamed. "Squirt your come inside mommy.
Make me your slut bitch." She began to gyrate, impaled on my
cock and finger. "Sperm mommy."
I came hard, and collapsed on her back. I slid my hands under her
and cupped her breasts. I cuddled her sweaty body.
"Baby, I've got a special treat for you," mom said as she moved to
roll me over next to her.
"What?"
"Look at mommy's pussy."
I knelt between her uplifted knees. Her pussy was swollen, her
hair matted and wet, and her pink wrinkled lips were open. A
white pearl of come had oozed from her womb.
"Kiss it." She smiled up at me. "Give me a tongue bath and
worship mommy's pussy."
That was my come dripping from her. I was scared.
"Eat me," she cooed, "my sweet pussy boy."
I lowered my face to her crotch. Her scent had changed, mixed
with the smell of come, it was strong. I kissed her mound, and
spreading her lips for me, she pushed my head lower.
I lapped up my come. I yielded to her and felt my lust growing.
She positioned my mouth over her hard clit. Sucking it, flicking
my tongue over it, she had a third orgasm.
"Now you're my pussy boy," she said, caressing my head as I lay
with it on her furry mound. "Mommy's pussy boy."
woman for me. I was five or six and she suggested we shower.
"Wouldn't it be fun if we showered together?" she asked. This
was how she had decided to handled the birds and bees crisis.
"Sure," I said, excited more by the newness of the idea of sharing
the shower than by actually seeing mom naked.
"Then let's take our clothes off." She pulled her sweater off.
"Mommy wears a bra to . . . well . . . " she looked uncomfortable
saying more, and unzipped her skirt. Standing in her white bra,
panties, garter belt, and stockings, she looked down at me, "Well,
young man? Off with your clothes too."
I pulled my tee shirt off, then pushed my pants down and off.
"I've got less on than you," I teased, thinking this was something
of a game.
"Good, take your underpants off and go start the shower."
In a second I was naked and in the shower adjusting the water.
The curtain was pushed aside, and mom stepped in. I looked up
and saw her nervous smile. Then my eyes began to lower.
"Mommy's breasts . . . "
I stared up at them. I was surprised that they were round and as
low on her chest because her bra made them high and almost cone-
like. ". . . they make milk." She touched them like she might touch
something she was just casually pointing out. "It comes out my
nipples." She pinched one. "That's how I breast fed you when
you were a baby."
But I was no taller than her hips, and I couldn't keep from gawking
at the magnificent patch of brown curly hair in front of my face.
Under the shower spray, it formed a perfect v and the water ran off.
I giggled because of the difference between us there. "How do you
pee without one?" I asked, touching her there to see if it was hiding
in her hair. She stood suddenly quite still, like you might if a bee
lands on you and you don't want to get stung. I felt the soft curves
of her mound and the beginnings of her cleft as the flesh formed
two puffy lips.
"Mommy pees down there in her . . . special place . . .but let's
get some soap on us," she added quickly, handing me the soap.
We never showered again; although I asked, it was always the
wrong time. Over the years, I stopped thinking about the shower.
But as puberty arrived, I began to look at mom as a woman, and
the shower became a favorite fantasy.
After breakfast on the weekends, when dad went to work and I
didn't have school, we'd talk and sometimes she would end up
getting dressed with me still chatting away. I was always supposed
to turn my back, and she would step behind a folding screen, but I
often saw her in her white bra and panties, sometimes a slip, and
sometimes, glorious times, she would put her stockings on while
sitting next to me.
One day, after school when no one was home, I went into her
bedroom. I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I smelled her perfumes
and touched her side of the bed. Her top dresser drawer was
slightly open and I suddenly knew the treasure I was looking for. I
pulled it open. There were her neatly folded white panties, bra,
garter belts, and brown rolls of paired stockings. I ran my fingers
over them. They felt especially soft and magical, almost like I was
touching mom. Then I took out the top pair of panties. I unfolded
them, and gazed at their shape, a shape that mimicked mom's, and
that gilded her special place. My fingers tingled when I touched
the thicker crotch panel. "Mommy," I whispered.
I stripped, as if for her. I was naked and aroused, standing in her
bedroom. I wanted her to see me, naked and standing with an
erection, to watch how I stroked myself for her. I looked at myself
in the mirror, to see what she would see. Whenever I had gotten
excited near her, I had hidden myself, ashamed at my arousal and
afraid she would be shocked, but now I stood proud, letting it
swing back and forth, beckoning. I was convinced that she would
love me for it.
Then I put her panties on. As I pulled them up, soft against my
erection, my hands shook. I saw my reflection, flushed with
excitement, wearing mom's white panties. They were so feminine
covering my swollen maleness. I reached down to caress myself,
but with the first touch I gasped, shuddered, and began to squirt,
filling her panties with my sticky come. My knees gave out, and I
sank to the floor.
I don't know how long I just stayed that way. I was dizzy and out
of breath. Then I heard mom come in.
"Teddy, I'm home," she called out.
I grabbed my clothes and dashed as quickly and quietly as I could
to my room. As I dressed I yelled back, "I'm doing my
homework."
Then, as I heard her coming up the stairs, I realized that I only had
one sock...one! My stomach sank, where was the other?
For several weeks I didn't go back to her room. I was afraid of
getting caught, and I knew that if I went back I would have to try
on more of her things. So I stayed in my room fantasizing; after
all, I still had her panties, which had become stiff with dried come,
but they hadn't lost their magic.
The allure was too great. After another month, I was hurrying
home after school every day and getting lost in her room. I wore
her panties, bras, stockings, and baby dolls, which I found in the
back of her closet. I was careful not to squirt in anything I wore,
and I always took paper towels with me to wipe up. I'd fold
everything just like I had found it and sneak out before mom got
home.
One day I decided to get completely dressed up, and put on a skirt
and sweater. To my surprise, and absolute delight, I found stashed
under the sweaters in the deep bottom drawer, a stack of lace
panties in emerald, indigo, scarlet, and black, with matching bras,
garter belts, and stockings. Mom had naughty lingerie!
The next day was a cold, rainy, Saturday. I kept her company in
front of the TV while she folded the laundry. She had a stack of
white panties folded next to her. I had a pillow over my lap as I
kept watching her out of the corner of my eye. I was curious.
Without thinking, I heard myself ask, "How come you don't wear
the sexy ones?"
I felt my face burn with embarrassment as I heard what I had said.
"You know, they advertise sexy stuff on TV," I tried to pretend I
had meant something different than what I had asked.
She didn't say anything more than, "Just 'cause." She picked up
the laundry and went upstairs.
I didn't know if I was in trouble or not. I stayed downstairs, and
tried to watch a bad sci-fi movie, but I couldn't keep from
worrying. So I figured I was safer to hide in my room. I tiptoed
up, and thankful that I hadn't bumped into her, I wasn't thinking as
I walked in.
She was sitting on my bed, holding her come stained panties that I
had forgotten to hide. Tears were running down her face. She
looked up at me and tried to speak, but nothing came out. We
looked at each other. Frozen in time and place.
"Damn you!" she finally yelled, throwing the panties at me. "How
dare you!" She stormed past me and down the hall.
She knew, now, but this was not what I had fantasized, not what I
wanted. I sat on the edge of the bed feeling hollow and pledging
that I'd never go in her room again. I could hear her in her room,
and I tried to explain myself to her in my head.
Suddenly something big and soft hit my head. I was shaken out of
my reverie to see her standing in the doorway and realizing that she
had gathered up most of her lingerie and had thrown it at me.
"You're . . ." she glared, leaving her sentence unfinished, but it
wasn't hard to fill in a hundred apt possibilities.
"Mom-"
"Don't you dare to speak to me." She turned to leave, but hesitated
with her back to me. "Don't."
I waited alone, but knew I had to apologize and make things right
before dad got home. I gathered up her lingerie and carefully
folded everything. "Mom," I said carrying her clothes back to her,
"can I come in? Can we talk?"
Her door was open, and she sat on the edge of the bed, a skirt, the
skirt I had worn, in her hand. "This too?" she asked in a whisper.
I stepped in and went to her dresser. I began to put her clothes
away.
"All my clothes...why?"
"Mom, I love you," I whispered without looking at her.
"My clothes."
"Mom," I looked up at her, "I love you."
"Is this how you show your love?" Her face stiffened.
"Masturbating into your mother's lingerie?"
The words were cold and they stung cruelly, but they were true. I
couldn't salvage much. I felt like slime and I was certain I was a
pervert. But I wasn't going to lie. "Yes."
She looked stunned that I'd admit that.
"I'm only a k**, but I've never felt anything so good." I spoke
quietly, trying to be calm, and looking at her, eye to eye. "I love
wearing your panties and stuff and . . . and . . . masturbating . . .
for you." I stood up and began to leave. I knew I had only made
things worse. "I've . . . ever since we showered and you showed
me your special place," I added.
I lay on my bed. Dad would be home in a couple of hours, late
even for him, but he had a convention to get ready for. So in a
couple of hours, my last hours, I'd feel the wrath I had earned.
"Teddy," mom whispered from the doorway, "may I come in."
I didn't say anything.
She opened my door and came in. She sat next to me. "I'm sorry.
I knew I was wrong then, that was no way to answer your
questions. But . . . "
"But it is one of my best c***dhood memories," I tried to say it so
that although the truth it sounded like I was making light of things.
"And look what it caused." She turned to face me and she ran her
fingers through my hair. "I love you. I'm so sorry, it's my fault."
Her arms wrapped around my back and in spite of the shame I felt
with tears streaming down my face, I buried my face against he
neck as she hugged me to her.
"Is it wrong to . . . masturbate?"
"Oh, no." She pushed me back and caressed my face. "That's not
wrong. It's natural."
"Do you?" I dared.
"Yes."
I looked at her as her face reddened. "But you're married, there's
dad."
"I'm not comfortable talking about this," she stood up, "not with
you. It's not right."
She walked out again. But, at least, I realized, not out of anger at
me. Maybe, I sighed, this wouldn't be the end of my life. And
after a few minutes she was back again, holding a small pile of
clothes.
"I suppose this is better than your getting a girl pregnant or getting
some disease," she whispered putting them on the bed next to me
and left, closing the door after her.
She had given me a complete outfit, skirt and blouse, as well as
stockings, garter belt, panties and bra, and a babydoll with
matching panties. One by one, I carefully unfolded each item and
held it up for admiration. With a sense of surprise and shock and
delight, I realized that they had all been worn.
Too much had happened too quickly for me to feel comfortable
with these gifts, but later, I sighed, later.
Nothing was said at dinner. Mom acted as if everything was
normal, and, of course, I wasn't going to say anything. That night
I put on her babydoll and crawled into bed.
When I came home from school on Monday, I still felt drawn to
mom's bedroom, but I also had her clothes that she had given me
waiting for me in my room. I had folded them neatly and put them
in my dresser, feeling no reason to hide them. But when I opened
the drawer, the first thing I noticed was that the panties had been
changed. In place of the white ones, there was now a pair of
yellow cotton panties, and they too had been worn.
Later, she said nothing to me and I didn't dare ask.
Each day was like this. I found myself hurrying home to see what
she had given me. Sometimes she replaced one pair of panties for
another, sometimes she left something new, but always worn.
Slowly, my collection grew, and it got sexier, colors replaced
whites, laces replaced cotton, naughty replaced utilitarian. But
nothing was ever said between us about any of this. Even on
weekends, when we were alone in the house all day, life continued
as if nothing had ever changed.
One day, a marvelous day, I came home to find a Polaroid picture
in my drawer on top of a pair of pink lace panties. She had taken it
looking down at her lap with her skirt pulled up showing that she
was wearing the pink panties. For a few more weeks, every new
gift was accompanied with a picture showing her wearing whatever
it was, panties, stockings, even a bra.
The last day of school before spring break was also the day dad left
for a two week business trip. I rushed home, now conditioned to
expect something from mom. Curiously, there was nothing new in
my drawer. I thumbed through the stack of lingerie. Tucked
towards the bottom I felt the edge of a Polaroid. One I had missed,
I thought. I remember feeling vaguely disappointed that she had
forgotten me as I pulled it out. It was taken in the shower. Naked,
with the water running down her, she had held the camera out and
aimed it back at herself. It was a picture of her magnificent brown
bush, wet and pointed in the running water, exactly as I
remembered from when I was five or six.
"Mommy," I whispered. I was excited by seeing her . I began to rub the bulge in my pants as I gazed at the
picture, transfixed with awe. "Mommy," I sighed, pressing the
picture to my lips and kissing her there.
How much I wanted to say something when she got home, and
later while we ate dinner. But it was like it always was. Mom
made small talk, asking about school, telling me about dad's trip. I
kept imagining her breasts under her cream blouse and her bush
hidden behind her long floral print skirt. I sat hiding my hard-on
under my napkin, aching to take it out. Finally, when she started
washing the dishes, I could stand up and leave without her seeing
my arousal. I went off to watch TV and take my mind off her
latest gift for a few minutes.
Mom came in and stood in front of me. She had unbraided her
brown hair which hung loose about her shoulders. There were
tears in her eyes and her face was red. "What do I have to do?" she
whispered, her voice cracking. She held the top of her blouse
tightly in her hands. "What?"
She stood there, staring, her chest spasming as she tried to control
her crying. Even with the tears, she was beautiful.
"Do?" I really wasn't sure what she meant. After all, we never
talked about anything really serious, and our last "serious" talk was
when she discovered that I had a thing about her clothes, which
wasn't much of a talk.
"Do!" she yelled at me. "What?"
"Mom, I don't understand."
"This!" she cried. Slowly, trembling, she pulled up her skirt,
above her knees, above the dark tops of her stockings. She was
wearing lacy, ivory colored, panties with a matching garter belt.
While she held her skirt up, her other hand slid inside her panties,
she began to wantonly rub herself, letting her hips gyrate, while
she alternated between moaning and crying.
Suddenly she stopped, frozen. "This is what I have become. A
slut in heat . . . masturbating for you. . . . I want . . . ." She let go of
her skirt, and glared at me. "Damn you!" She stepped closer and
slapped my face. "Damn you."
"Mom?"
She grabbed my hair and pulled hard. I tried to move with her
hand but fell to the floor. As I struggled to get up she knocked me
down.
"You little shit." She leaned down and slapped me.
I grabbed her hand as she tried to slap me again, and she fell on top
of me. She was crying and screaming names at me. "You fucker . .
. asshole . . . bastard, little shit . . . ." I tried to roll over so she
couldn't hit my face, but she rolled with me. In her anger she was
much stronger than me.
We were wrestling. I was struggling to protect myself, and she
was getting wilder. I really hurt from her knees and elbows
jabbing me.
And then she was on top of me, with her knees pinning my
shoulders. She was making growling guttural sounds as she wiped
her hair away from her face, and looked down at me. "Look at
me!" She pulled my ears. "Look!"
Her face was flushed and wet with tears and sweat. Her white
blouse had opened enough that I could see her ivory lace half bra
and the fleshy mounds of her breasts that looked like they could
spill free at any moment. "Mom, I don't understand," I whispered.
"Shut up, you little fucker." She leaned close to my face. "You're
not man enough to understand . . . you're a little sissy, jacking off
in mommy's panties . . . a panty boy . . ." The words stung more
than her slaps had. "Well, panty boy, mommy's had enough."
I began to cry. I was so ashamed of myself, even though she had
encouraged me, I felt like a pervert.
"What does a good panty boy want to be?"
"I don't know," I whispered.
"You don't know?" She gathered up her skirt and raised herself
directly above my face. "A panty boy wants to become a pussy
boy."
I stared up at her crotch. Her scent was hot and pungent.
"That's right, stare at mommy's panties . . . at mommy's cunt," she
growled. "What are you?"
"I'm a panty boy," I sniffled.
"Whose? Say it."
"I'm mommy's panty boy." I could see a wet stain in the crotch of
her panties, and dark wisps of curly hair sticking out. "I want to be
your pussy boy . . . mommy's pussy boy . . . please."
"So you want to be mommy's pussy boy," the words barely more
than grunts, "then mommy's going to fuck your face with her
pussy." She made deep gurgling sounds as she lowered herself to
my face. She began to rub her crotch up and down my face. I
could taste her juices in the wet fabric, and I could feel her puffy
folds and her cleft against my lips and nose. "Eat mommy's cunt."
This wasn't about the niceties of eating pussy. This was fucking
my face with her cunt. She was wild with her lust.
She rode my face, bucking and squirming, as I tried to kiss and lick
her. "Pussy boy . . . pussy boy," she kept calling me. "Do you like
this?" She pulled her panties aside and rubbed her hairy scratchy
pussy up and down my face, hard, making it difficult to even
breath, as she smeared her juices over me. "Do you? Talk about
pussy whipped," she punctuated her words by pushing her hips
forward, causing my nose to slip between her wet inner lips and
my mouth to surround her muscled butt hole. She wiggled back
and forth. "You can't be a man licking mommy's pussy . . ." she
wiggled more, ". . . chewing cunt . . . sucking snatch . . . munching
muff . . . tonguing twat . . . "
She slipped her hand down, and rubbed herself as she rode me to
orgasm. Her stockinged thighs clamped my head and she pressed
down, spasming on my face.
Time stopped as I realized I had made her come. I felt proud.
She stood up, and took her blouse off, then she unzipped her skirt.
In just her lingerie, she sashayed around the room. She giggled
and grinned down at me. She stood over me, wiggling her hips and
rubbing herself all over. "Pussy boy," she whispered as she
unhooked her bra and let it drop to my chest, "do you want more?"
"Yes," I sighed.
"Then take out for me."
I lay there gazing up at her. I wanted her to see how excited I was,
to know what she did to me. I unzipped my pants and released my
cock.
She slid her panties off. "Masturbate for me." She dropped them
over my cock. "Show me what a panty boy does."
As I stared at her bush, I wrapped her panties around my cock and
began to jerk off for her.
She moaned, licked her lips, and rubbed herself. She seemed as
excited watching me as I was watching her.
She knelt beside me, and pulling her panties away from me, she
dragged them over my face. She smiled, "Now you're going to
fuck mommy."
She got on her hands and knees, with her fleshy ass sticking up at
me. The pale globes of her ass, the dark pelt of curly hair that ran
between her legs with the wrinkled pink wings of her inner lips
poking out, and the tan star of her tight asshole. She wiggled her
hips for me. "Do you like mommy special places?"
"Yes." I got behind her, and touched her ass cheeks.
She moaned. Putting her head to the floor, her star-shaped, hole
stared up at me.
"Touch it."
I hesitated . . . touch it . . . it . . . mommy's asshole . . .
"Baby, touch mommy's asshole."
I ran my finger tip over it. It was hard and sticky and it pulsed.
"Yes, yes," she sighed. "Again . . . push it in. Make mommy a
slut. Your slut."
I put my finger to its center and she pushed her ass back. My
finger slipped inside her tight hole.
"Oh, baby . . . yes . . . do my asshole." She began to gyrate against
my finger. "Watch me wiggle and squirm for you."
As I fucked her ass with my finger, I caressed her soft cheeks and
pussy with my other hand.
"Baby . . . give me your cock . . . push it in my cunt."
I yanked my pants off.
"Hurry."
I knelt and pressed my cock between her legs.
"Let mommy," she reached under herself and guided me into her.
My cock slid into her warm moist cunt. "Mommy," I cried.
"Fuck me."
I began to hump her.
"Do my asshole . . . put your finger back in . . . feel your cock in
my pussy . . . I'm your slut . . .your hot bitch cunt . . . your mommy
. . . yes . . . harder . . . fuck mommy. . . ."
Her head nodded back and forth, her hips pumped, and too soon, I
was about to come. "I'm coming."
"Sperm me," she screamed. "Squirt your come inside mommy.
Make me your slut bitch." She began to gyrate, impaled on my
cock and finger. "Sperm mommy."
I came hard, and collapsed on her back. I slid my hands under her
and cupped her breasts. I cuddled her sweaty body.
"Baby, I've got a special treat for you," mom said as she moved to
roll me over next to her.
"What?"
"Look at mommy's pussy."
I knelt between her uplifted knees. Her pussy was swollen, her
hair matted and wet, and her pink wrinkled lips were open. A
white pearl of come had oozed from her womb.
"Kiss it." She smiled up at me. "Give me a tongue bath and
worship mommy's pussy."
That was my come dripping from her. I was scared.
"Eat me," she cooed, "my sweet pussy boy."
I lowered my face to her crotch. Her scent had changed, mixed
with the smell of come, it was strong. I kissed her mound, and
spreading her lips for me, she pushed my head lower.
I lapped up my come. I yielded to her and felt my lust growing.
She positioned my mouth over her hard clit. Sucking it, flicking
my tongue over it, she had a third orgasm.
"Now you're my pussy boy," she said, caressing my head as I lay
with it on her furry mound. "Mommy's pussy boy."
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