“Sorry for the detour, hon. I just wanted to get my head on straight,” Roberta said. She combed her fingers through the splayed-out river of her hair laid in all directions above. “A little too much wine, I think.”
Kyle rolled his eyes, safe to do so in the dim lighting when his mother wasn’t looking with her eyes half-closed already. How kind of her to keep him updated. He clicked his tongue, now more brain-dead, even, than repulsed. He just wanted away from her now, even if he couldn’t sleep. Just being out of her controlling fingers would be enough.
“When was your first kiss, Kyle?”
“I don’t remember, Mom,” he said.
“Oh, yes you do. You must.”
“It was probably when I was thirteen,” he said.
“So young. I had no idea,” Roberta murmured. “It must not have been very good, of course. Thirteen-year-olds are just finding their bodies. They have no idea how anything works, how anything is supposed to feel. You know?”
“Sure,” he grunted.
“When was your first real kiss, dear? Thirteen doesn’t count. I mean the first kiss where you and the girl knew what you were doing. I’m just curious.”
The boy twitched. No reason to panic. The sooner he answered, the quicker Roberta left him alone.
“I don’t know. Maybe when I was seventeen.”
“That sounds more like it. But that’s still so little time. You’re young yet, sweetie.”
“Maybe.”
“Would you like a quick little lesson?”
Another weighty silence ensued. For a few pregnant moments Roberta swished her bare skin against the silky bed sheets, until one of the shoulder straps from her dress came undone. Kyle, meanwhile, sulked in her fist.
“No, thanks,” he forced himself to say, rather than shouting something far ruder and more honest. “I’m okay, Mom. I just want to sleep.”
“We’ll sleep soon, hon. I promise. I just thought… since we’re already on the date. For educative purposes, you understand. I want you to go back out into the world after this experience a new man, after all. Would it really hurt to get a little practice for that special lady out there?”
Yes, Kyle decided before his mother even finished asking. Yes it would. A thousand times yes.
“Just a quick one, Kyle. Honest. Let me do it as a thank-you for being my wonderful little date.”
Finding a begrudging stoicism in the depths of his soul, Kyle ceased verbal or physical resistance. This, like everything else he’d endured this month, was obviously going to happen whether he wanted it or not. His mother laboriously pulled herself back to a seated position, her nylon fibers swooshing on the sheets, and heaved her broad back against the headboard. The wooden supports creaked loudly, and for a second the tiny boy in Roberta’s hand wondered if the whole structure was about to buckle for the final time beneath her overweight, half-buzzed whims. They remained aloft, however.
“C’mere, you little charmer, you,” Roberta purred. She united her hands just above her breasts, cupping her dashing dinner date between her thick palms. “Give Mama a big ol’ kissy.”
Kyle braced himself against his giant parent’s thumb. He winced as he realized the visage of her thin, unappealing lips, still moist from gargled wine and beef fat, was growing ever-wider. She was drawing him to her mouth as one might pool water from a basin for a drink. Eyes open or shut, there was no way to optimize his composure for impact.
The collision with Roberta’s mouth was as sloppy and haphazard as her speech had become. A literal spray of spit plumed from the slitted opening as the woman simultaneously gathered her lips into a pucker and smothered her son’s head into the rippled surface. A droning squeal echoed from Roberta’s lubricated throat. She blew meat-laced hot air down the front of her son’s jacket as she suckled his face, folding his entire body into an awkward embrace with her full chin.
Kyle’s hands batted helplessly at the woman’s oscillating dimples. His fingers met the fine upper lip hair flush to her skin just above her squinched mouth, only repulsing him further. As his body lurched back again in Roberta’s trembling, sweaty palms, Kyle was staring straight up the black void of his mother’s nostrils. Prominent nose hairs waved and swayed all the way up the dank tunnel. A chemical reaction stirred in the boy’s stomach. To live under the same roof with someone as sickening as his mother was punishment enough; to find his body helplessly, hopelessly fondled amongst the damp geometry of Roberta’s face was a waking nightmare.
“Mom… Mom! What are you d-” Kyle wrestled for air, but every time he thought he was free, his mother’s thumb squeezed against his scalp, inviting him back into the soupy pasting of her quivering lips. Speaking a clear sentence was impossible, let alone getting a gulp of oxygen.
Roberta’s breathing was becoming more irregular. Somewhere between bringing her son to her chin and mashing her lips over his body, she’d abandoned the pretense of the kissing lesson and moved right on to personal exploration. Every tremor of her skin and twitch of her fingers was almost involuntary now; muscle memory resumed from the night before, when she’d introduced her multiple openings to a cucumber.
Her tongue flickered from over the row of her bottom teeth, lapping at Kyle’s chest and sopping up his clothing. The lapels of his shirt snagged in the enamel-stripped chompers, shedding multiple buttons from his food-stained outfit in one swirl of the woman’s slimy tongue. She sharply sucked in new gulps in between lovingly gnawing at her shrunken offspring, until his soggy shirt had all but turned to wet paper and melted from his body.
Another opulent swell of her lips, and Roberta allowed her whole tongue fully out to play. Steam rose in greasy rivulets as her red, pulsating organ slopped directly into the center of Kyle’s body. Her taste buds came to electric life as she dragged it up from his beltline to his head. His shirt and jacket shook loose, having become Roberta’s napkins and mobile spittoons, and landed somewhere in her expansive lap below. As it was, the boy’s miniature slacks were already inching down his thighs with the weight of collected slobber. And his mother’s tongue was creeping ever-lower, aiding the thin garb on its descent as she licked and massaged her son’s hips.
“MOM!” Kyle screeched with one valiant push away from Roberta’s mouth, only to be thrust back so hard by the reactive flip of her fingers that his head passed inside the swampy cave of her mouth.
“Just be quiet for a minute, baby,” Roberta slurred. His spit-polished head dragged back out from her cheek. She snatched him by his left ankle and dangled him off her palm, leaving him no recourse but to hang helplessly over the wine-breath geyser of her flapping lips. “Mama’s gotta work through a couple of issues. Just think of it as getting lucky at the end of the date.”
“What the fuck?” he gasped, hollowed in every sense. Despite all the warmth of his mother’s alcoholic sweat and sticky drool, Kyle was chilled to his core.
Roberta closed her eyes. A sappy grin overtook most of her face, radiating twilight sunshine. The obsessively manicured digits of her free hand clawed around Kyle’s waist and peeled his pants away in two easily shorn strips, so soft had they become from leaked saliva. Another flick of her pinky beneath his boxer band and the boy was hung naked and upside down over his enormous mother’s filthy, thirsty mouth.
“Mom, please! Don’t do this!” He was humiliated to hear his own voice coming out so desperate and high-pitched as all the blood rushed to his head. Even a crack in his tone thrown in for good measure, putting him on the verge of tears. But at this stage of the game, no tactic was too low.
“What’s this? Looks like Kyle Junior was curious what all the fuss was about, huh?” Roberta teased. Her words flowed from one magical monosyllable to the next. She nudged a thick index finger at her son’s floppy member, watching it flinch awake. “Interesting, don’t you think?”
“GOD! Mom, that’s just… just because of all the… the…” Kyle stammered. Even he was beginning to sweat at this point. Only now did he stop to let himself face the revolting reality of his internal biology. It had been a month since he’d gotten action of any kind, which was a far longer streak than he tended to prefer. Even masturbation, a poor substitute by any measure, was hard to come by, as Roberta didn’t allow him out of her sight or often her breasts for more than a few minutes at a time.
The bill of all that pent-up testosterone was coming due.
“Let’s just see if we can get him to grow up a little, shall we?” Roberta crooned. With infinite kindness, she propped the boy’s hanging dick against the pad of her fingertip and began to caress, pointedly and without an ounce of the nuance she’d conjured during the last bath. Almost instantly, his rod began to stiffen in response to the woman’s buttery skin stroking side to side with mounting strength.
“MOM!”
Her dark eyes bulged and dilated to full saucers. Roberta’s attention, and the stirring down south of her navel, roiled quietly within. The tip of her tongue circled the edge of her mouth like a shark fin.
“Hush, sweetie. The lesson isn’t over just yet. Now try to hold still. Mommy hasn’t done this in a while, even on one so small as yours.”
Consumed with existential horror and indecision at whether to faint or vomit, Kyle writhed every direction he could swing his limbs. Twisting his other leg around Roberta’s fingers. Slamming his ineffectual fists on her knuckle. Ripping loose a scream from his garbled voice box. None of it made the slightest difference as he was plunged back against Roberta’s lips, this time with his engorged junk squarely inserted through the puckered opening.
An instinctive moan escaped Kyle’s lips before he could hope to cover it. Airless and shrill, as though he’d been stabbed, when in actuality his gigantic, half-drunken slob of a mother was sucking his pill-sized cock in the industrial vacuum of her undulating mouth.
Both parties found themselves at a crippling loss for words. Kyle hung inverted over the crest of Roberta’s chin, every rational thought and blood vessel on the precipice of imploding, with his legs spread to either side of his mother’s nose, while her powerful lips and gooey tongue went to town on his hapless family jewels.
The climax of the “lesson” took several minutes of messy work, but not as long as either mother or son would’ve expected. Kyle’s brain put up a strong fight to shrivel his erection, given the horrific circumstances in which he was imprisoned, but on the other hand, his balls had been waiting four weeks to get off, and this was a battle his body was going to win handily over his mind.
Roberta felt as vigorously self-confident as Kyle felt lethally embarrassed. After sensing the tiny salty spurt reaching her uvula, she withdrew him where he’d wrapped like a lemur over the curve of her jaw, caked in drying spit, and collected the six-inch lad back into her palm. Giggling, she batted his wilting hard-on with her pinky.
With some awkward shuffling and another chorus of nylon-swishing, Roberta clumsily spilled out fully on the bed again. Unzipping the red dress proved an awkward nightmare, but she was more than relieved to let her soft paunch out of its makeshift corset. Left only in her leopard skivvies, the woman pried her breasts apart and tucked her son in between the fleshy bags for a long night’s rest.
“Thank you, Kyle, for a lovely date night,” she whispered, patting his head. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Mother slipped into a sound sleep full of vivid wet dreams, while son spent the next ten hours, tragically committing the precise vibration of his skull mid-blowjob into memory. The morning was slow to come, and when it did, Kyle found himself wishing deeply for the darkness to return again as he retreated deeper into the shameful hovel of Roberta’s tits.