- Text Size +

“Mom. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

            “Does this look like a kidding face to you, sugar plum?” Roberta asked with her usual sweet-laced mortal seriousness. She rested her chin on the outstretched plank of her interwoven fingers, with her elbows propped up on the lime-stained bathroom countertop.

            Kyle, still with the corduroy tattoo of his mother’s compressed skirt fabric printed across his face, slumped numbly beside her toothbrush cup. He was a young man visibly defeated and probably mostly deflated as well. However, at this latest suggestion, he’d summoned the strength to stand his ground.

            Or at least protest from a seated position, as that was just about all his sleeping legs allowed now.

            “What do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “There’s no possible real reason you can tell me that we have to do this.”

            “Honey, do you see yourself? You can hardly move your legs. You’ll probably need the whole evening to recover. I’d bet you’ve still got pins and needles in your arms, haven’t you?”

            “Well, yeah, but all of that is because you sat on me. You sat on me,” he said, repeating the incremental phrase, probably for his own gradual processing. It still had yet to sink fully in. His eyes flickered in disbelief between Roberta’s expectant eyes and her greedy fingers.

            If he wasn’t so dog-day tired, he would’ve shuddered in disgust at the reminder of having experienced the shape of his parent’s mushy butt the entire day, even if he did have the small favor of billowing cloth to separate him from her blemished skin.

            “You’re getting into semantics, dear. None of that changes the fact that you can’t clean yourself without functioning arms and legs. What kind of a mother would I be, really, to set her only son adrift in deep water with no way to fend for himself? Do you honestly think, after all I’ve done for you, that I’d put you at such risk to drown?”

             Kyle had an answer he so desperately wanted to scream at his parent. Instead he chose the more diplomatic choice, as it would probably spare him another few hours underneath Roberta’s life-squeezing rump.       

            “No.”

            “That’s a good boy. Now go ahead and strip down. You know the drill now. There’s nothing I haven’t seen down there, especially after the refresher course we had in the changing room last week,” Roberta said. She winked, then shook her head at his instantaneous sneer of nausea. “Only teasing you, hon, to lighten the mood. Now get those clothes off. All of them. Chop chop.”

            Having learned the hard and humiliating way what happened when he disobeyed under these circumstances, Kyle complied. He set his eyes to the yellowed sink countertop and robotically whipped his attire away. First shoes, then shirt, then pants, which he discarded in a pile.

            The underwear took a deep breath before he could even muster the courage to tuck his thumbs into the elastic band. After all, he’d been allowed to keep this oh-so-precious garment on during the impromptu miniature outfit fashion show. There was an internal hurdle to leap here. His hand shook as he reached for the waistline cusp of his boxers.

            However, before he could even pinch the cotton, Roberta’s index finger crested into his limited window of vision. With the same precision as her last extraction of the boy’s clothes, her polished fingernail slid down the front of the underwear. The curved keratin surface of her extremity ran along Kyle’s thigh, and then, with a simple crook of her digit, she had it in her grasp. His underwear slid directly down to his ankles, wrapped neatly around Roberta’s fingertip.

            “Sorry, dear,” she cooed. Her finger flicked the papery scrap aside. “Just trying to move this along. I’m sure you’re eager to get through with this so you can get back to dusting the kitchen.”

            “Fine,” he grunted in his telltale reticent armistice. He lifted his chin back up, making quaky eye contact with his parent as he resumed his meager six-inch full height, with his entire form on display.

            Roberta held steady and stoic as she glared Kyle down, but she could feel her pupils dilating almost instantaneously. It had been a very long time since she’d seen the boy naked, and though it was a silly thing to have to distinguish, he’d changed quite a bit since then. Not just in the Adonis-wannabe shape of his sculpted arms, abs, and chest. Though it filled her with impropriety to think this way, from an objective standpoint, Roberta recognized that her son was quite well endowed between the legs.

            The woman’s slimy tongue pressed to her palate amidst a moat of rising drool. The nape of her neck warmed, almost to the point of moistening. Through the layers of her blouse and bra, she could feel her soft, flopped nipples firming. Taking on their more conical shapes like hardened putty. She hadn’t even lifted a finger.

            “Well?” Kyle muttered, hands folded behind his back. His knees shook. “Can we just get this over with, Mom?”

            Roberta swallowed the excess saliva in her cheeks. “Absolutely, darling. Just hold still for mama, and we’ll get through this in as timely a fashion as I can manage.”

            The woman’s open hand hovered pointedly around her son’s naked body for just a moment before she seized him in her fist. A rush of endorphin-drenched adrenaline shot instantly through Roberta’s body, leading from her thick fingertips to the flat-bed of her sole. It was remarkable how you could experience a person’s entirety, when they were small enough to be held like a doll in one hand.

            With all the delicacy in the world, Roberta lowered her prize into the warm water she’d pooled in the basin of the sink. Then, after a few pumps of lilac soap plunked into the bath, the woman dunked him below the drink for a rinse. Her fingers remained taut about his frame.

            Kyle’s delightfully rigid, wet little muscles were just as satisfying as last time against the curve of Roberta’s fingers. She squeezed her palm tighter underwater, savoring the infinitesimal reaction of his every bodily mechanism clenching in response to the motherly trauma. When she withdrew him in her still-coiled hand, suds dripping from the cracks in her fist, she enjoyed the feeling of his tiny chest pulsing for air against her plush palm.

            Another dunk. This time her fingers wrung him out like a soaked sponge, scrubbing his every nude angle. A thumbpad drew figure-eights into his abdomen. Her ring finger sidled along his inner thighs. Not a nook or cranny existed on Kyle which wasn’t treated to several agonizing seconds of gentle rubbing by Roberta’s probing hands.

            Of special note on this novel occasion was, of course, the boy’s little manhood, squashed pathetically into the creased crevice beneath Roberta’s pinky finger. She realized as soon as she caught sight of his member that she wanted to touch it, purely out of ravenous curiosity. Unconsciously, she waxed her digit along the full, miniature shaft. Amongst the splashing water and inflating bubbles, it was likely the boy didn’t think anything of it. Goose bumps primped on the woman’s spine.

            So, again, Roberta took her opportunity. Gathering a stream of foaming bubbles up the length of her finger, the mother stroked the slippery spire of her digit along her son’s half-inch dick. After several repetitions of fondling her finger up the front and back of his micro-member, even propping it up on the spiraled tip, Roberta knew she was just about out of time in her exploration of the boy’s junk. Any longer and he might raise some authentic questions about the necessity of washing his shrunken dick for three full minutes.

            Moving on just as swiftly and innocuously as she’d commenced soaping her son’s undercarriage, Roberta returned to scrubbing his hair and flicking him in the bare buttocks. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but furrow her brow the next time she pulled him back up from the bath in a spray of lilac-froth. She would’ve bet good money that Kyle’s happy captain hung just a little longer than it did during her initial kneading.

            When the cleaning was complete to Roberta’s satisfaction, she laid her six-inch offspring in a washcloth and thoroughly scoured him dry. However, where ordinarily she might’ve taken her time, in the cause of granting Kyle another humility lesson, she was instead expedient. The woman set him down, let him redress, and returned him to the kitchen to continue his grout-dusting duties.

            Next Roberta lied, telling her son she needed a few minutes to freshen up before she started dinner preparation. Then she was off, careful not to take the stairs at rampage speed, though her goose-pimpled body and the hair-standing electricity spurred her on. Her hardened, dark-cherry nipples were chafing now on the generous bowls of her bra cups. She all but flung herself into her bedspread as soon as the door clicked shut.

            There was no logical rule here, nor acknowledgement of shame. Whatever cravings burgeoned within during that innocently-intentioned bath, Roberta was now following with an animal need.

            The beltline of her skirt almost tore in the carnage. She ripped them down her hefty thighs, yanked through the flimsy folds of her panties, now sopping with pre-cum, and jammed two beefy fingers into the gaping petals of her womanhood. Without a second of additional stimulation, she wormed her fingers in up to the knuckle. She clawed at the gummy, undulating walls of her ribbed cunt. Her juices sloshed and dribbled through the hairy mass of her pussy and down her taint, soaking into the bed sheets.

            Roberta felt a wall-shaking moan swelling in her throat. Thinking fast, she snatched the pillow beside her head and pressed it over her mouth just in time to capture the lustful music of her joy. The woman was taken aback, pausing for a split-second in the rapid rhythm of her masturbation. She hadn’t made a noise like that, pretend or not, in more than a decade. There’d been plenty of fun-filled alone times on this very mattress in the intervening years, using a variety of helpful instruments ranging from garden vegetables to household implements.

            None of it had ever charged Roberta into a state of sheer liquid arousal the likes of which she was drunk on now. Adjusting her grip, she inserted a third finger into her widespread opening. Her pubic hair was matted down by sticky lubricant, making a smooth enough runway for the manic frenzy of her jutting digits. The thumb alternately hammered and circled the fleshy nub prodding through the folds of parted, cum-strung skin.

            All the while, the woman’s mind was distilled to the thought of holding her helpless, naked son in her powerful hands: his muscles and cock temporarily her exclusive possessions. She attempted several times out of latent resistance to shift her thoughts to other attractive men she knew, chiseled celebrities, or even porn stars. None of them fueled the fire. Only when Roberta’s hunger drifted back to that image of her soapy little boy clasped in her palms and at her complete mercy did she permanently reignite the passion swirling within her glorious, thick, hump-crazed body.

            The pillow returned to Roberta’s face in the nick of time to absorb the seismic scream of her orgasm. Her thunderous thighs rocked the bed; the aging furniture creaked beneath its full-bodied host and her thrashing ass.

            Sighing, Roberta eased her fingers out of her still-tingling tunnel. Strands of ejaculate webbed between her digits. For a few moments, she simply petted her hairy mound. At the back of her mind, she felt societal morality and general decency commencing to punish her for what she’d just done and what, precisely, she’d thought of through every bumpy, wonderful second of that ride.

            Roberta put those thoughts consciously aside. For now, she had more immediate concerns. For example, the fact that she actually did have a legitimate need to “freshen up” now.

 

Chapter End Notes:

Please comment!

You must login (register) to review.