Roberta revolved, like a planetary body unto herself. Fingers hooked into the knot of her robe belt and pulled it undone. Her hips mustered a sway, shaking to some unheard beat. Her ass wiggled, each cheek alternately rising higher than the other, and all of it far above Kyle’s horrified witness like a looming moon. The robe was coming off an inch at a time, all while Roberta beamed down at her tiny shocked audience.
The boy watched the cellulite of his mother’s thick thighs quivering, then the revelation of the skin ever-higher until the deep crescent of her pale ass in its taut white thong was revealed. The sleeves of the robe fell away from her arms, the entirety of the billowing mass of it flopping down upon the couch where Roberta let go. A warm breeze unfurled with finality from the hem, and then there was only the six-foot-two behemoth of a woman in her coquettish white underwear before her six-inch son-turned-student. The bra strained with the effort to contain the magnanimous bulk of her breasts and the dark islands of her nipples. Then, of course, there was the small matter of her panties, struggling to shield her crotch, though it was mostly a moot effort, as the fabric was soaked nearly to the edges with the gooey shadow of her excitement.
That was all the prompting Kyle needed to deem this an emergency. When next Roberta turned around for him on her improvised stripper’s catwalk, sashaying her thighs and cheeks, the young man sprinted for the side. The panic of the moment granted him inhuman clarity. Hardly pausing to strategize his descent, he stooped at the edge of the coffee table, hooked his hands into the ornate rail that made up the leg, and climbed down. When he was near enough to the carpet such that he was half-certain he wouldn’t break anything, Kyle leapt for the carpet.
In her inebriated state, Roberta actually managed another full revolution before she even noticed her son was off the table. As much as she normally enjoyed studying his little nude form, there was too much fun to be had in playing up this show, running her hands over her capacious hips and hoisting up her breasts to create the illusion of pertness.
“Kyle?” she muttered, squinting drunkenly down at the table. She batted her frizzy locks out of her eyes and steadied herself on the coffee table. Lowering into a squat, the woman located her boy on the floor, cowering behind the leg of the coffee table. “Oh, there you are!”
Despite his bravado, Kyle now regretted immensely his decision to reach a lower vantage point now that his mother was hunched overhead. The reason being, of course, that her panties were bunched into the center by the volume of her thighs, allowing the proud mat of pubic hair to curl from the corners. A slick strand of her juices gathered into a liquid bead at the epicenter of her panties.
“Good idea, honey. Let’s get warmed up first, shall we?” Roberta purred. While one hand kept her relatively still on the table, her other hand descended between her legs. It took only the efforts of one thumb to peel back the sopping layer of panty fabric, and suddenly her engorged pussy was hovering over Kyle’s head in all its dripping glory. The fleshy petals of her dense, hair-flecked flower parted with instant willingness when Roberta brought her thumb to bear against the hood. Then, without further regard for comfort or surroundings, the woman plunged two fingers directly into the gaped opening. With some wriggling, she worked them in nearly up to the knuckle. Her syrupy nectar gushed from the folds of skin and ran in slow rivulets down Roberta’s hand.
Several heavy drops plunked down to the carpet at Kyle’s feet, soaking straight into the ground like acid. The tart odor of fruity soap overpowered by Roberta’s sour fluids rose in an intoxicating haze nearly potent enough to get the boy drunk.
It took all the strength in Kyle’s body not to double over and wretch. Subconsciously he knew he’d need that energy to run away whenever his body managed to catch up with his mind and will himself despite the fear to flee. Of course his every internal fiber was screaming at him for a retreat, but he was fixed to the floor by the violence and grotesquery of what he was watching. More than anything now, he wished for two drops of bleach: one for each of his eyeballs.
“Now just look at what you’ve done,” she teased coyly, her breath becoming shallow. The drunken words gargled in her best approximation of seduction. More gummy strings of ejaculate spilled from her pumping fingers. “You’re such a cutie-patootie, I don’t need any games to get me going or even any lube to clear the runway. See? All I need is you, Kyle. My sweet little boy. What do you say, dear? Are you ready?”
An alarm was blaring so loudly in the boy’s eardrums he could hardly hear Roberta’s slurred proclamations any longer. At last Kyle regained control of his uncooperative muscles and ran breathlessly in the opposite direction, hurling his tiny feet as far ahead of him as they would carry.
As with the last escape, it took Roberta a moment to register the change. She frowned, apparently letdown by his lack of readiness, but she supposed it wasn’t too much to ask if he wanted to get into a little bit of foreplay now. After all, he had just as large a roll to play in any lesson-learning as she did. Her cum-greased hand extended out, entirely too late to catch him, and she managed a smile.
“Ooh, somebody’s being a little minx, I see,” Roberta chuckled. Gingerly she worked her way back to full height without falling, then surveyed the expanse of the living room. Her son had only just darted back into the kitchen and was making his way for the hallway doorframe.
Roberta was quick in pursuit, or at least as quick as she could manage in her state. She caught the walls for balance, her thudding footsteps landing with concussive aplomb. Each time the woman set her soles down on the hardwood, Kyle was rattled from yards away, nearly toppled even, but kept his balance. Just as he felt his mother’s monstrous shadow overtaking him again in the dining room, he dove beneath the crested sculpting of the china set cabinet.
Giggling with a vengeance now, the lumbering woman dropped back to her haunches and launched her clawed hand directly beneath the underhang. She only just missed the boy, feeling his leg tickle her outstretched finger as he clambered deeper into the dusty darkness. Her ear pressed to the wooden body of the furniture, where she heard him cough for air.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she entreated. The words felt good in her mouth. The pure power of this foreplay game was on the verge of making her drool.
Kyle, decidedly more terrified now than he’d ever been in his life, achingly caught his breath and planned his next move. Through the dust bunnies he could make out his mother’s fingers still cloying for him; on the opposite side of the cabinet, another opening offered an exit along the wall. Wasting no time, he slipped out the back and sprinted for the next room before Roberta could get her bearings. Over his shoulder, he saw the woman spreading her ejaculate-caked hand wide in the dark and squinting for a glimpse of him. In her hunched position, gravity invited another few stray droplets to unfurl from her nethers. The woman was obviously ravenous, and whatever part of this confrontation had once been a joke to her was solely serious now.
“All right, Kyle. I think you’ve had your fun. I want you to feel warmed up, too, after all,” Roberta crooned. She withdrew, sitting on her legs and folding her hands neatly in her lap. Tempted by the near-peaking of her arousal, she swabbed her thumb over her labial lips again, but temporarily resolved not to touch herself again until she had Kyle in hand. A shudder rippled over her. “But it’s time to come out now. Come out and see Mommy now, please.”
Turning her head to the side, Roberta blinked. A few stray locks of hair hung over her eyes, obscuring her vision, but she caught the unmistakable flutter of little three-inch legs crossing the threshold of the room back into the hall. She sighed.
“Now, Kyle. I’m coming to get you. So I want you to stay still. I’m going to be gentle. Honest. We’ll take our time, and make sure you understand every step correctly.” Roberta trailed after her doll-sized son yet again, with greater urgency this time. Emotionally and sexually, she was reaching a pinnacle. Now was the time to act for maximum payoff. Any longer, and the boy would just be inconveniencing her and, by extension, himself in return.
Their contest of cat-and-mouse carried over into the home office. Roberta nearly had him between the storage boxes, but, taking advantage of his mother’s lack of balance, Kyle darted out right between her crouched legs, dodging the microscopic rainfall of her pleasure. In a moment of instinct, Roberta slumped her ass directly into the carpet, hoping to ensnare her son in the globes of flesh and twisted panty strap on his way behind her. Kyle only just missed the meteoric weight of his mother’s rump, though the wind blast of it sent him flying several inches.
“Almost,” Roberta said gravely, the fun having significantly dissipated from her voice. “I’m beginning to get… impatient with you, dear. I don’t think you’ve yet come to appreciate the scope of the other lessons we could be sharing, if I choose to do so.”
Kyle sprinted back into the hall while his mother awkwardly rose up. The young man didn’t dare stay long enough to watch what she did next. All he was concerned with now was never, ever learning exactly what those alternate lessons were she was referring to.
“For example…” Roberta bellowed, to ensure he heard her no matter what room he reached. She yanked open the side drawer in the office desk, rummaged aside the file folder she used as cover, and withdrew the immense glass tube of her favorite toy. “…I’ve got my choice of tools around this house. Cucumbers, markers, and especially my dear little friend here.”