Covid - Curing Quarantine Pt 1 free porn video

Covid Kills.

That was the word out on the street. I wasn’t exactly Out On the Street; I was a sophomore at a reasonably reputable college when this brutally bunk pandemic began.

“They’re cancelling NBA basketball? What the fuck, man?”

I knew it wouldn’t be long before my mother called me home at that point. All the work I’d put into studies that semester would get shelved and - the world would fall over. Well, I hadn’t quite anticipated the world part but shelving the personal progression I was in was individually tragic enough. In addition to my studies, I had a bit of a groove going on socially. I don’t know what category of “cool” I fall into but I’d been pretty honed in on academics and never made much room for socially farting around in years prior. Wasn’t until a few months into college I realised there WAS room for the farting around part. Or rather, fucking around. In college, we fuck around. In high school, you fart.

I had some pretty good options on my phone to Fuck around with now. And the other thing about college? We’re a bunch of horny young adults. Like bunnies in a bush.

“I need you to come home right now. They’re sending us all home from work. I’m sending mySELF home from work,” my mom would call and demand as anticipated.

“But…” I tried to protest.

“Trust me. The call will come down from your own administration in a handful of days from now but by then you might already have the bug. Get out of there now. I have your flight information ready. Grab a pen.”

My mom isn’t one to mince words. She’s the on-the-ball type. And you have to admire it. A single mother has got to be assertive that way, doing the work of two. She is as meticulous as she is practical.

“Well, how long is this gonna last?” I asked, with honest concerns beyond my own freedom.

“As long as it takes,” she replied. “This isn’t the kind of thing we can control the way we think we’d like to. It’s a heathen. Come home.”

Home? I mean, to be fair, that’s not really my home anymore.

Which doesn’t mean I hated it. Just. Well. I’d moved on from there. My mother and me had a real good relationship. I gave good effort towards being a team. Pick up the slack at home while she was out there makin’ bacon. But. I liked being out on my own. I liked having options on my phone. I liked being a bit of a bunny. I mean, what was I gonna do with my cock for several weeks if this thing went on the way she was saying? That could be a problem.

+++

She squeezed me tight right away.

As if I’d been gone for twenty years.

Which wasn’t all that different from any other time I’d return home but there was most definitely a little more urgency in this one. Thing about that is, my mother is also very busty. Dare I call them enormous (you wouldn’t; you might just call them cannonballs. But from where I stand they’ve always been as large or bigger than my head so I can go as far as enormous). So when she was smashing me up against her pair, forgive me for being reminded I’m not gonna have my hands on any of those for some unknown quantity of time. Had a backpack of books with me, but no tits to offset my urges in between.

Bunk.

“When do we get tested?” was nearly the first thing out of my mouth. Kinda rude. But I’ll remind you I just got yanked out of an environment where that’s pretty much what it’s all about.

“Never mind that for now. Come inside with me. You’re home.”

As much as a taskmaster she is, and meticulous, she also likes to pamper me. Not too much but certainly not too little. We “palled” around at home a lot growing up. Popcorn nights and cartoons. Board games, cooking lessons, paint-on spot on top, teasing each other about dumb stories here and there. She’d ask me plenty about what interests me and there wasn’t any subject too adult (meaning, nothing she would imply was above my head or “impossible” for me to understand). When she’d tuck me in at night I’d end up like a mummy, no breathing room at all and I’d let her do that anyway cuz - you know, I loved her and she liked to. So, she’d suffocate me a little bit often enough but the rest of the time - when we were able to be together, she worked a lot - where I could breathe and be her little buddy, it was good.

She’d attempt to treat me as an equal in many ways but again, she’s the parent; I was the child and I knew that. So it wasn’t ever equal. It was Her. And me alongside for the ride. And therefore I was a bit of a loner within our own house.

Well, THAT was about to change.

I’d never been… I’m asking a lot of forgiveness here but… STUCK with her in the house this way. Sure, there might be an entire Saturday or a Sunday in the past. But both plus all five other days of the week? Nope. Never.

It was pretty unnerving.

She didn’t know my “new” ways all that well. Not quite able to make the adjustment that I’m my own Man now. I don’t need direction all the time. And I don’t need all that interference.

And I also don’t need those fucking tits bouncing around from morning until the clock runs out, peppering me for hours about what’s not available. She’s got a rack that dances around like that. She dresses rather classy but at home she likes to dress that down. Not exactly informal but… well, she’s not always wearing a bra. Or not the kind you would away from the home. I can’t be couped up in a house with her day after day and not notice that, “Hi, I’m a unicorn! I sometimes bounce from here to there like a honey bear. I’m a cookie jar! But - hands off cuz I’m also your MOMMY!! Be a good boy now.”

You want a little more background? She’s in her late thirties but you wouldn’t know it. Most think she could honestly pass for twenty-nine at times. If she’s a MILF (and she might be) then she’s the kind you could ask yourself, “But that’s not really someone’s mother, right?” And that worked against her when it came to parental functions. She had little to no time for unnecessary gatherings but when we had those instances you can’t miss, the whispering went on, “There’s that fucking harlot with the jumbotrons. Throwing them around again. I’m just trying to be a Mom here. Bitch.” Yeah, a fair amount of that. And the husbands of course would need a bib to keep their chins clean.

Thing about it is, I never saw her bring anyone home. So none of these perspectives on her were fair at all. She worked her ass off. Plain and simple.

Anyway, something close to two weeks had gone by and I hadn’t had a “release”. You know what I’m talking about. I couldn’t. Cornering myself in the bathroom again after all these years just felt ridiculous. I’d never had her in the house that much before. And yeah, I could have gone the shower route but - wouldn’t that be kinda obvious?

Another problem? I found out in college I kinda prefer to hear a lot of encouragement to enable myself properly these days. Like, audible agreement. You know what I’m getting at? I’d met a few sluts who really wrote the book on that and it just completely bamboozled me how I could ever stroke one off without oral accompaniment before. Brought that whole experience up from a 5 to 10 where explosive orgasms are concerned. And a 5 is being generous; I used to feel kinda humiliated having to handle things myself.

So, fair to say I really did not want to return to that. Here I am, back at home, and now I need to spank it? I’m just a dumb kid in a closet again? And I don’t even have a goddamned titty mag on hand. I’ve only got My Mother!! Who never leaves the house anymore! Yeah, that’s not great.

Boners.

Problematic boners began coming on.

Boners in pajamas. Boners in raggedy sweats. Boners in shorts. Boners under the table. Boners under your knuckled hand while trying to hide it. Boners morning, noon, and night.

Finally she just went ahead and addressed the obvious on me.

“Sweetheart? Can you not take care of that somehow?”

Boners while you’re bringing Mom the dishes after watching her waddle her busy morning ass around for a challenging fifteen minutes or so.

“Sure. I can do them. It’s just that you were already here. I’ll do them all. No problem.”

“No, I meant - well, that’s nice of you but no, I meant - that,” she delicately pointed down at the halfie I was sporting as some indiscriminately appropriate bubbles dribbled off her washing gloves and splat at the cold tile floor.

Boink.

Oh shit. What now?

“I don’t mean to be insensitive. I mean, I understand you’re stuck in here with me and that’s probably not a whole lot of fun day after day but. You know what to do about that. Right?”

Sure, Mom. I’ll get right on that. I’ll just head up to the toilet now and jack it off while you continue on as if nothing’s been noticed. Absolutely. Or, why not just whip it out right here in the kitchen since you’re being so bold as to point out my FUCKING FEAR!!

Like, I had no answer for her. I just stood there.

But my boner did not disappear.

Nope.

She’s got a huge rack on her. And it looks good somewhat wet with bubbles on top, no less. Homely apron worn or otherwise. It had been weeks now. And I could even see some skin.

“Honey? You do what you need to do. I won’t question it.”

Jesus christ. She can’t be that clueless.

I went back to the little round morning table and took a seat. Pretty much sank like when Jell-O pudding found out Bill Cosby is a serial rapist.

She watched me for a little before taking her gloves off and grabbing a seat alongside me. Like I said, clueless - couldn’t think to take the chair across the table? I’m still having a problem here.

And she identified that remained true, immediately.

“I’m sure you know how to handle that by now. I’m plenty more than confident of that, actually.”

You’re not helping this, Mother. Move away from the table, please.

But I still hadn’t uttered a word in response.

“What do I need to tell you to make it okay?”

See, this is the way she would smother me. Like it’s OCD or something. When the child shies away do not go after him. He’s troubled. Needs to work it out, process some shit. You can’t start heaping pancakes on top one after the other. I haven’t SPREAD the butter yet!!

Give it a moment to breathe!

“Teddy?”

That’s my name, by the way.

She let out a sigh. And then put her hand lightly on my leg.

What The Fuck?!!!

I leapt backwards.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I just…”

“Jesus christ, Mom! I’m weaponized right now!”

And she couldn’t even bother to not giggle at that.

“No kidding, mister. You’ve been that way for days now if not a week or more.”

I shot right back at her.

“No shit, Sherlock! I’m nineteen!!”

She giggled again, despite her attempts to calm me.

“I know. That’s what I’m saying. Go up there and take care of it. I’m not gonna sue you for slander.” Which is what she does for a living, by the way. Relatively small firm.

“I CAN’T!!” I yelled back. Well beyond annoyed and plenty angry instead.

She wouldn’t let up.

“What do you mean, 'you can’t'? It’s a relatively simple process. As I understand it.”

We were in the shit now. Viet-fuckin-nam.

“No. Actually it’s not at all.”

“Well, what’s so complicated about it? Enlighten me.”

“Oh my god… after all these years we’re gonna have this discussion now?”

And that might have stung her some. I didn’t mean to. But that wounded her.

“I’m sorry.” Her hands went into her lap. In a small little ball of apology. “You’re right of course. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you like other moms.”

Oh, fuck me. Now I’m gonna trip on guilt and not just my cock?

“Jesus, Mom.”

“No I really am. I’m sorry.”

I looked down at my dick and it somehow had not yet gone completely soft. And that did cause me some concern. Maybe there’s something wrong with me greater than any other average person in this hellish scenario.

I sat back down. Fuck it, let it warble around in my loose basketball trunks. Nuthin' can be done.

And that confused her.

She almost thought to touch my leg again. The pampering thing, she can’t control it at times. But her hand held back and I noticed that. Good effort.

“Talk to me honestly. What’s the trouble?”

As I said before we were always open this way with each other. Not on THIS sort of topic but she would treat my concerns as if I were an adult. And I’d actually advanced enough to know how that benefitted me greatly. So I opened up.

“I met this girl.”

“Okay,” was all she said in response. Offering me an avenue and confirming her interested ear.

“She talks a certain way.”

Quizzical eyes.

“She talks dirty to me when we do it.”

“Oh!” She was somehow oddly delighted by that. Maybe just my honesty perhaps?

“So,” I continued. “I’ve kind of grown dependent on that.”

“Yes?” she asked as if not knowing why that’s a problem.

“Like. Dependent enough that I can’t… like… really… get off,” I had to pause, “… without it.”

She took a moment. I was clearly being honest.

“You haven’t had a wet dream in the last few weeks?”

I was surprised she even knew how that worked. Like, when you wake up and realise you hadn’t just blown your wad in a dream but actually made a mess within the sheets, instead of some or several sets of tits.

“Well… yeah,” again I had to pause. “A time or two.”

“Okay. And that’s not enough to keep you. I mean. To… calm things down?”

I laughed. Wholeheartedly.

“I don’t think you know how this works, Mom.” I looked over at her for the first time since I’d sat back down. Ooops. Boobs. When I caught her eyes she tried not to show me that she noticed me notice. Which was good of her. Instead, well rather than even sharing a pensive look of concern it was more like a smirk.

“Try me,” she offered.

I could only shake my head side to side in minor defeat.

She reached out once more and lightly set her hand to my leg, a relatively fair distance away from the source of concern (which was on the other side from her), though I swear it wasn’t unintentional this time. Very much aware. “This is good. We’re having a true conversation again. You’re a man now. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Then she brought her hand back to herself and smiled. You know, that way only a mother can and drops all your defenses… 

“I’m horny nearly all the time,” I told her simply.

“Okay, we’ve established that. No problem,” she smiled again. Harmlessly.

I wanted to tell her everything about all my perversions that might absolutely disgust her on every level but I’m a relatively responsible fellow and knew better than to spill my cards all over the table.

“I get horny too, you know,” she added. “Not all the time but sometimes.”

Her smile continued. But I did not exactly want to hear that. One person at a time, eh.

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

She recognized that.

“This girl… Sophia,” I began again.

“Uh-huh, tell me about her. Your girlfriend.”

“I really don’t wanna go on and tell you about her. Except to say,” and I kind of lied in that I didn’t tell her that Sophia was NOT my girlfriend. She’s a fuck buddy and nothing more. I didn’t realize it would bother me in coming days that I hadn’t disputed or clarified that part. “… she knows what to say to me. When I’m horny.”

“Oh yes. Do tell.”

Again she almost seemed to light up at that concept. Which really had me upside down some.

“She’s a naughty girl?” she giggled. I mean, she’d almost shaved twenty years off her life the way her eyes sparkled and her mouth curled sideways while she smiled at me. Tee hee.

I looked at her beautiful tits again. Damnitt!

Didn’t check for her reaction that time. Looked away across the table. Pretending to focus on my thoughts, beyond what I’d just looked at.

“She’s very encouraging,” I continued once more.

“Uh-huh,” she was pleased to hear.

“So. That’s how I need it now.”

And I stopped.

“That’s it?”

I was a little annoyed at how trivial she made that sound.

“Uh, that’s why I’m having a significant PROBLEM here, yes. And it hurts. If you must know.”

She thought quietly for a moment. I didn’t wanna look her way and catch another faceful of titties so I held my gaze across the table. And it DID hurt. It was throbbing. And I felt like a sick and twisted peon the way weeks' worth of visions of her boobs racing up towards my face were pretty much all I could see besides an empty kitchen. Fuck this quarantine, man. My brain is melting.

“What can I do about it?”

What. The?!

“Jesus christ, what the fuck?”

Cussing is allowed in our house. We just didn’t use it that often. Lord's name in vain? No worries.

“No, really. I mean, do I need to go get some smut magazines? You wanna watch a porn?”

Aw shit, man. For some reason just hearing the words “smut” and “porn” come out of her mouth gave me an additional rise. It literally LEAPT upward. There wasn’t any not seeing that happen. Kicked at the flap in my shorts. Good god.

She got up to grab her keys. Not necessarily out of alarm - though there was some of that to be sure - but more I guess cuz she was under the impression I’d just confirmed an absolute yes to that alternative.

“What kind do you like?” she paused. “There might not be anything open. I can order a pay-per-view?”

Oh my god. I really wanted to bury my head in my hands enough that it might disappear. My head I mean. Or maybe even if my cock disappeared forever that would be okay as well.

Furthermore, her tits were moving around now, hurriedly. Not good.

My gonads continued kicking about. Not sure how much of that she could witness from her new vantage point, thank god. I moved to reassociate myself, block it out from view with my elbows and she yelled at me suddenly.

“NO! Don’t do that. I will not have you doing that again.”

I guess she was referring to some months or years before?

“I can order up whatever you want. Sorority Sisters on Parade? HR Fuckin Stuff? T&A for Teens?”

What the hell, man? Where are these odd name choices coming from? The Sorority thing might have interested me but…

“Heavenly Hooters and all the fun things that can be done with Big Dicks?”

Alright. That’s enough. She must be toying with me on purpose.

“You don’t get it,” I tried to escape. But ran directly into it instead. “I need the interaction. I can’t just view it from afar.”

Wait. What did I just say?

She stopped moving about and rested herself back against a countertop, folded her arms beneath her chest. Oh, swell.

“What about phone sex? Can you call your girlfriend for phone sex? Why haven’t you called her thus far?”

Oops. Um, because she’s not my girlfriend. And also maybe…

“Like I’m gonna hide in the bedroom and try to pull that off with you around? Besides, she’s from overseas. She went back home.”

“Oh, so you had to quit it cold turkey, huh?”

If I wasn’t mistaken her nipples had hardened. Difficult to ensure given what she was wearing - that simple apron over top something cotton. It’s relatively warm where we live in the Spring so they were both thin layered and wispy, white shorts on below. Tight ones.

“Can’t quite… 'pull that off' with me around, eh?”

She bit at her bottom lip and eyeballed me a challenge.

Now, if I haven’t drawn it up enough - my mom is hawt. She’s got a good job at a law firm. She’s plenty confident in how she goes about things. She’s a well-educated woman and she might be a little bit OCD in some areas but she’s as light as a feather in others. She’s completely comfortable in her own skin. And when she looks at you in certain ways she might want to? You are quite compelled to reciprocate or match her challenge if that’s what she’s asking for.

I was more than half hard by now. And it had been that way since she got up. Some of these words coming out of her mouth weren’t of the type I’d heard her use before. Just, plain and simple okay, I wanted to interface with her. There’s no point in denying that. Right then and there. That’s what I was thinking. Though this was NOT a concept I’d considered before. Certainly not outwardly. Subdued, submerged, pushed away often times before? Maybe. But never on the surface like it was now. Fucking Covid.

It dawned on me that she was very much having that effect because of the words I’d just encouraged as suitably the type I need to - complete a scenario.

“What if we did it? Phone sex?”

I nearly fainted.

I swear there were interchanging images of my mom like in some crappy Cinemax soft porn for goobers, “Ohhh Barnabus… would you like to have a real good look at me? These, perhaps?” And my mom would be squeezing her boobs together and plattering them up like Eggs Benedict. What the fuck is going on?

Eventually I managed to shake my head out of it.

“What did you just say?” Dumbly, I asked her.

“Phone sex? Maybe I can not be Me?”

Bizarre. Did she not just repeat some version of what I’d thought I heard her say before?

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not always a mom. I mean, I could be a voice on the other end of a phone. If you want me to be. Maybe.”

While I sat there and thought about it my dick went into overdrive. Bronco Billy. Shootout at the OK Corral. Blam. Blam. Blam. Left and right. 'Saddle up, Cowboy. Getyer spurs on!'

“You’re kidding me. Right?”

But she wasn’t kidding at all. If there was any look of amusement on her face just prior, she cleaned that off and approached the table some.

“Nuh-uh. I’m not,” she said. Almost commandingly though not exactly threatening. Her entirety had never looked more omnipotent. Like I was looking up at Athena. Opening up out of her clam (was that Athena? I forget). You gonna say no to this?

Then she looked right down at my revolver, hastily replenishing its bullets.

“Hmm. Are you gonna really argue with that? I wouldn’t.”

The smirk returned to her face. It’s almost like she was daring me to not be a pussy.

“It’s just a phone call.”

+++

Moments later I was up in my room. We’d set out some ground rules. She offered me a lot of convincing how this was gonna be okay and whatnot. Fielded a whole slew of concerns. I think the most convincing part was when she said, “We’re all gonna die anyway. The plague is upon us.”

Most important ground rule was: You stay in your room and I’ll stay in mine. No one needs to know the call came through within our own house.

Furthermore, my fuckin shorts were a mess before I lay down. I’d been gooping up precum for several minutes before we took our own fort positions. My shit was way past patient and I was actually quite impressed I hadn’t just shot off in my shorts already. A little bit less “safe” than a wet dream perhaps so I suppose that may have saved me.

“How would she go about it?” she asked. Rather simply through the phone.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” I reasonably offered back.

Pussy.

“You can,” is all she would say to that. Reminding me of several other times she might say that and prove I can conquer much more than I measure initially. “How would she tend to go about it?”

I thought for a moment. Use your words wisely.

“Encouraging. She was… is… very encouraging.”

Quiet on the other end of the phone for a moment.

“How so?”

I had to ask myself once more. Are we really doing this?

I guess so.

“Like, nothing was off-limits.”

Yeah. That’s about accurate.

“Nothing?”

I could hear things in her voice that were absolutely her. Except. I dunno, not quite somehow. More like, Her but not things I’d known about. Maybe. How new was this for her?

It sounded like. This might not at all be something she’s repulsed by.

“Yeah, it was like she loved smashing barriers.”

Again. Totally accurate. This chick, Sophia, just loved kicking doors down. Once she saw my cock she went berserk. It’s pretty decent. Okay, it’s more than decent. According to her, it’s Huge. “FUCK me with that thing! Reposition my pussy into something better than it was. Open me up to a brand new me.” Shit like that. Very encouraging if not demanding.

You don’t say No to Stephanie. Nobody does.

“It’s not just the words she used?”

That was a very intuitive question and I responded to it favorably.

“No. It’s how she uses them.”

There was another long pause on the end of the line.

Long enough for me to situate myself a little differently. Except, I really had no idea how to situate myself in any better manner at all. I wouldn’t put my hand on my cock yet. Despite the fact it was dribbling all over my thigh from unrest at that point.

“Dirty words aren’t enough.” If I wasn’t mistaken she completely agreed with me. “Ya gotta mean what you say.”

Was she asking me a question? It didn’t sound like that. If anything…

“Can you give me an example?”

Seriously? Like I’m gonna offer that up?

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Well, yer gonna have to give me some rough idea if I’m gonna go out on a limb like this, c’mon - have some courtesy.”

Fair point. Fair point. Hmm…

“Okay. Well, I don’t like courtesy. From your end. In this area.”

I answered her as honestly as I could. Out of respect.

Another pause.

“No? What do you mean by that.”

She wasn’t grilling me. She wasn’t even being OCD. I hadn’t offered her enough to go on. And given what I’m now agreeably asking her to do…

“I mean… can you be as raw as possible?”

Maybe I’d insulted her. Like thinking she could not was kind of a dig of sorts. Mom is only one thing and she wouldn’t know a goddamned thing about sex or being sexy? How preposterous of me to believe.

“I can be raw.”

Yup. She was a little bit upset if not angry at what I’d implied about her own boundaries or limited understanding of these things. How stupid of me. I was recalculating that misnomer and attempting to reassess when she repeated what she had said just prior.

“I can be raw.”

Her voice was different. It felt like she’d just shoved her tits up under my chin and asked me again if I don’t want huevos with my sausage.

“How do you want it?”

So I gave her another honest answer.

“Like that. Actually. Willing. And not too concerned about how I’ll hear it.”

There was a pause.

And then a, “Hmm…”

I grabbed my dick. I don’t know why I thought it made sense to allow that at that time. It may have just been the way she said, “Hmmm…”

She spent a fair amount of time thinking before I became impatient. I had my dick in my hand now after all.

“You know what I mean?”

Maybe that was the first time I’d asked her something twice as opposed to the other way around?

“Not for certain. Can you give me an example?”

Fuwk. Maybe we’re not making progress.

“I guess. Umm…”

“Pussy? You wanna hear me say the word pussy like that?”

Whoa! I’d never heard her say the word pussy at all. And certainly never knew she could say it like that if she had. It dripped out of her mouth in a way I can’t quite qualify - other than to describe it as very much sounding like what it is. She SAID the word pussy as if a pussy was saying it straight up from there directly.

“Like that?”

She asked once more. I hadn’t been able to offer a response.

“Uhh… yeah! Exactly like that, actually. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m full of surprises, buster.”

Is she now? What kind of other things don’t I know?

“What else? What else should I say?” She was hurried now. Invested. Like she was rushing to help me get ready for graduation, or fix my tie for school photos or something.

I had to think about it for a moment. But naturally landed on the next most obvious thing.

“Well… cock? Can you say cock?”

Again her voice was somewhat raspy. Maybe that’s not quite true but - hurried, engaged, enthusiastic, willful. She wasn’t overly aggressive at all but it certainly wasn’t passive in any way.

“Of course I can. You bet I can.”

But she didn’t say it.

“Well…” Ain’t she gonna say it?

“I think I’ll make you wait for that one - that’s called foreplay, by the way - but I assure you I can say cock just as well or better than… oops. SHIT!”

I had to laugh.

Which is unfortunate cuz she had ONCE AGAIN blown my mind with how she said it, even in an accidental passing. Sounded just like what I know of my own, in fact. Amazing. Two - fer - two!!

So she buried the lead.

“Cock. COck. CoCk. CoCK Cawwwk. There, you happy?”

Umm… yeah, I was. She’s a natural. Who woulda thunk it?

I felt I must take two hands to myself for a moment and enjoy what I’d just heard. You know, support that relationship a bit. Crooked the phone into my shoulder.

And apparently she needed to know about that.

“What are you doing?”

So I answered her. Honestly.

“Um. I really liked the way you said that also.”

There was another pause.

I felt something transfer over and back.

“Yeah? Does that excite you? You like the way your otherwise unimpressive and uptight mother can manage to say the word cawwwk properly? Hmm?”

Aww crap, most definitely I did.

“Damn,” I admitted.

“Mhmm… cock… you like that, sweetheart?”

I did.

“You’re not unimpressive at all, by the way,” I managed to tell her. Seemed fair enough to offer. Since we’re talking absolute truths here.

“I know that. But my son doesn’t seem to think I’ve got a fair grasp of the English language.”

I had to barter a little bit.

“Is that really even part of the English language?”

She begged to differ.

“Don’t pull that college shit on me, boy. I’m a grown woman. I know things.”

“Okay, okay - fair enough,” I backed down willingly.

There was another moment where neither one of us said anything, and I watched my hand moving around on myself while I held it firm with the offhand at the venomous base. Respecting. My “cawk”.

“So what else am I supposed to say about this big cock you’re so fond of hearing me talk about?”

Jesus. It’s just not getting old. Every time she says it was like grabbing my groin with a more than competent hand.

I remained engaged with her. Almost, talking at myself instead.

“Like things you might wanna do with it. Dirty stuff. You’re not supposed to.”

“I’m not supposed to what?”

I’d insulted her again accidentally.

“No. Say things about it you’re not supposed to. Encouraging things you’re not supposed to. Dirty stuff that might get you in trouble. Society frowns upon.”

Proud of myself for that. Absolutely directive and assured.

“What are you talking about, young man? I’m your mother! I’ll do no such thing!!”

Wait! No. Not like that!

“Oh shit. That’s not what I meant. See, I knew this was a bad…”

She had me on a rollercoaster.

“I’m just teasing you. I know what you meant.”

Jesus christ, she was twisting me in knots. My boner had become enraged at that point.

“Do you? Cuz we can not…”

She stopped me right there. Parachuted away the non-important contents.

“We can do this. I might be pretty good at it, actually.”

I felt like she might be right. I had a phone in my hand. Her voice was squeezed between a bunch of 1’s and 0’s. Digitized. Who is she really? Where is she at? I’ve got a dick in one hand and a phone in the other. This is what people do these days.

“You think?”

“Sure, pumpkin,” she foolishly replied. Not a word I would have preferred she use when I was just then reaching acceptability on something far more adult in nature. “I understand what you’re asking of me. I can play a role. Where I’m not me. I’m sorta someone else.”

But that was. Very encouraging.

“Yeah. Can you do that? You don’t have…”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?” she interrupted.

No, no. Once again I could hear my known mother on the end of something I don’t want happening. An end to something I’d rather gain instead.

“It’s a relatively fair exchange,” she went on. “I’m invested. I can’t have you walking around with that painful boner for such long hours any longer. If this is what needs to be done then I’m on it.”

Another pause. I said nothing to what the both of us were thinking, temporarily.

“I mean. Not quite that.”

“I know what you meant,” I reassured her for once.

“Good. See? We’re two consenting adults here.”

Yeah. Is that all this is?

“Now… hmm… could you maybe try to convince me one more time? I might be a little bit nervous.”

Certainly understandable. I’ll need to get that right.

”Mom. If you do this for me… I’ll get good grades. Summa Cum Laude.”

But she dismissed that.

“Not like that. I mean. Get me in the mood a little.”

Hmm, I thought I might have nailed it but apparently not.

“Tell me something nice that way.”

I offered something off the cuff. It’s fair to say I was way beyond stupid horny by then and I just didn’t think it out.

“What, like how attractive everyone thinks you are?”

But it appeared to work.

“That’s a start. Everyone?”

“Sure. EVERYone,” I assured her.

“Will they buy me diamond rings? Or just wanna see my titties? Measure me up next to Dolly Parton.”

Nothing is easy with this woman.

“Mom. Gimme a break here.”

“I know what they say about me. I’m not dumb,” she rebutted.

And I had one in return.

“Well. You can’t blame them for noting the obvious.”

Once again. That worked. Are women really just this simple?

“Uh-huh. Keep going.”

Was she really asking me to compliment her boobs, was she asking me for an honest opinion of her body? Like a sexual object?

“There’s never been anything worn by you that hasn’t looked the better for having you in it.”

Long pause. There was a pause of a length where I felt very afraid. How silent it was. What had I just admit to her? That’s my MOTHER I’m talking about.

“Oh my. That wasn’t bad at all. I might be in the mood now.”

Phew. How can I get so much anticipation so wrong? I’m up. I’m down. I’m all around.

“Yeah? That easy?” I chuckled.

“You love me long time? Sucky fucky? Ten dolla, GI?” she threw back at me. Winkingly.

We’ve watched a lot of home movies together. My dad went and joined the army after they divorced. We make fun of him. Not for that but because of other things.

“My bad. I deserve that,” I sacrificed.

She pushed that away for obvious reasons.

“Okay, one more thing. Will you help more around the house like you used to?”

Okay. Whatever. Now we’re onto chores? I’ve got a heinous cock to take care of here. And I might need a hospital soon.

“Yes, ma'am. I promise I’ll clean my room more often.”

“You’ll take out the trash? You’ll do the dishes? You’ll eat whatever I cook for you? You’ll watch romantic movies with me even though they’re stupid? You’ll peck me on the cheek when we’re through?”

Whatever. Yes.

“Does that turn you on?”

She answered me. Significantly.

“Immensely. Do your chores, young man.”

I was actually more curious about the romantic movie thing but wouldn’t wanna press the matter at this point.

“All of that and then some,” I confirmed.

And then one more final pause.

“Very well then.”

She sighed. I’d never heard my mother let out a breath like that. It wasn’t like, erotic or anything. On the surface. It just. I’d maybe not ever heard her let anything go like that.

That’s what it sounded like. Letting something go.

“You’ll fix the plumbing if anything goes haywire?”

OCD.

“Absolutely. Promise.”

I was smart enough to read into what she was actually asking there. And I responded sincerely. If we wreck anything from doing this I’ll make it my problem to solve.

And then the breath came back into her.

“Okay, I’ll try. Here goes…”

The renewed anticipation now had my cock on high alert. It was constricting at the base, repetitively. Torquing. I was REAL interested to hear how she’d think to go about this.

“No judging. Promise me.”

While also somewhat frustrated by her continued hesitancy, she’d shown/said enough that I was real encouraged by potential results. And quite honestly my dick hurt real bad by then. I really needed to be solved. Never mind what we’re about to engage in is categorically catastrophic and potentially life-threatening. I needed to empty my balls. Straight up.

“I promise, Mom. I really…”

“You think you’d like to shove your cock down my throat?”

JesusTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.