Mother Gets Angry

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She went into his room to get an old coat of hers out of the big wardrobe. At least he was out for once. The room smelt so stale – did he never open a window, or change his clothes often enough and dump the old ones in the laundry basket, which was all he had to do, damn him, while he lounged about all day and she had her job to cope with plus the housekeeping on top of it. And there all over the floor by his bed were those girly mags of his, most of them lying as open as the cunts they flourished, with all those gross cocks sticking up at her. Why couldn’t he at least have the manners to put them away so that she would not have to confront them? Then on the table beside his bed that crumpled handkie. She stooped for a disgusted sniff. Just as she thought – fresh too. What a waste. So pathetic.

Well, she was angry with him but that was partly because she was worried. He wasn’t a boy of fourteen or fifteen when these things were to be expected. No, Keith was eighteen, and had no girl friend and as far as she knew must still be a virgin, which was fine in itself if he was saving himself for the right girl, but there didn’t seem to be any girl at all or ever had been. His friends just a few mates from his schooldays. And no career worth the name – only odd jobs he took on to earn a bit of pocket money. And however often she urged him to go to College to learn something specific, and however often he agreed with her, as he always did, nothing ever seemed to happen. She couldn’t be nagging him all the time. In fact if he had disagreed with her she would have felt more respect for him – at least he would have showed some spine, been something of a man.

The trouble was she felt guilty about it all. She had done her best. Divorced for ten years. No man in the house, because none of the odd men she had gone out with were ones she wanted to have living with her or to move in with herself. And anyway men were reluctant to take on a divorcée with a child, and especially an over-dependant child, so it was all a vicious circle – the longer he hung around at home the less likely she was to find a new partner. She had done her best to be both father and mother to him, but she seemed to have failed, and that was that. Meanwhile her ex. had re-married and lived abroad and confined his attentions to the boy to Christmas and Birthday presents and the odd brief visit every year or so.

At least Keith was out of the house this evening, and who knows, something might come of it – one of his mates had taken him clubbing, a rare event, and one that never seemed to have led to anything, but you never knew, this time with a bit of luck perhaps. After all there were plenty of shy and desperate girls out there as well as men. She made her way back to the sitting room, where she settled in her arm chair. Apart from her nausea at Keith’s bedroom, her evening had gone well. She was away from work, she had showered and changed, she had enjoyed a light supper with a couple of glasses of wine. The glasses had then extended to most of a bottle – a weakness, but then one needs the odd treat – and here she was with a glass and the remains of the bottle beside her and she could read a book or watch the tele. So she snuggled herself down – and in fact fell asleep.

When she woke she realised she had not slept long – only a nap of half an hour or so – which quite often happened when she could relax after work. Her mind reverted to that room of her son’s. She would damn well shove his blasted mags under the bed herself, and whip out of there everything that need to go in the wash, including that handkie of his, which at least might encourage him to keep his private life more private. She threw back a last full glass from the bottle to get herself going again, felt all fired up for her task, whisked over the landing and charged into his room.

There he was on the bed, his trousers and grimy white pants round his ankles, his right hand working away on his cock and his left holding up a girly mag in front of his eyes. He was propped up on a pillow in the shirt and jacket he had worn to go out. He looked at her horrified, dropped his mag, and spread both his hands over his cock to hide it.

Such a thing had never happened before. Her first instinct was to shoot out esenyurt anal yapan escort again. But instead she snapped, lost her temper. She strode over, sat on his bed, dragged his hands off his cock, and grasped it and started pumping it herself. He looked terrified, a rabbit in the headlights of her glare, and made half hearted efforts to push her hand away.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing,” she shouted at him, “Why are you back so early? Why couldn’t you stay and make an effort and get yourself a girl friend instead of coming back here and doing this, you and your damned mags. I bet you’ve never seen a real girl. Don’t you have any idea that a girl might want it too? That there are girls out there as shy as you are, wanking away at this moment wishing some man had the guts to ask them for it? That a girl might even like you? What do you think women are, what do they do? What do you think I do? Don’t you think I masturbate when I haven’t got a man, but at least I do have one from time to time, I do make some effort, and you do nothing but lie about here.”

In fact this tirade only occupied half her attention. The rest was with her hand round his cock. At first the cock had winced and shrunk in his terror but now it had revived, a fat warm stiff cock. She was enjoying holding it. Though heaven knows what she thought she was up to. She had to stop, recover herself, get out. Damn it though, he was so stuck anything new would be better than nothing.

“I bet you’ve never seen a goddamn woman,” she said, “Or only in a strip club or something. At least you could look at an actual woman, not these photos all touched up to be nothing like anybody real.” She stopped pumping, sat up, undid the buttons on her white silk blouse and pulled it open, dragged up her white vest, undid the front fastening of her white bra and pulled it up beside with her vest. There were her tits, quite meaty she thought but not gross, hanging out under the clothes which she held up around her neck and between the two sides of her blouse, as she bent towards him and thrust them into the centre of his vision. “Go on, look”, she said, “Real tits not air brushed tits. With real flesh in them. Feel it, feel them, go on.” He was looking at them mesmerised but frozen. He did not touch her. It was now or never. She lowered her left breast onto his mouth, supporting her weight on one hand and stretching behind her with the other to get a hand round his cock again. It had lost a bit of its hardness. What now?

She brushed his closed lips to and fro with her nipple, leant further so that the softness of her breast lay over his face. She worked his cock carefully, not too hard, her thumb brushing the most sensitive bit, just under the glans where the glans was least extensive.

Suddenly he opened his mouth wide. Sucked in her nipple and a lot of her breast. Suckled it madly. Threw his arms round her back and clasped her tight to him. She had broken him. For his own good. In desperation.

She worked on his cock, rubbing faster, not gripping too hard, that thumb just flicking, flicking the edge of his glans. And, so sudden it surprised her, his cock totally rigid, a shudder and throb in it, and her hand was covered in the stickiness of sperm and she could smell it, the real thing, all over her fingers. She milked him gently, his cock that would be sensitive after coming, milked him as if appreciating every last drop of his juice. And he too, as if milking her, sucking away at her breast but more softly now. She pulled away from him, wanting to see him, have him look her in the eyes, acknowledge it all. He was looking at her breasts as if stunned, abashed. “Look at me”, she said. He met her eyes, frightened still. She brought up her hand and showed it to him, her palm dripping thick sperm. She put the palm to her mouth and licked it as if she was a cat at a bowl of cream. He looked startled, as well he might. She finished, moved her hand away, licked the stickiness off her lips. “So you see, girls can like it – no need to waste it on a handkie,” she said with a smile. She would like him to get the idea that all this could be fun, though that was not going to get home to him for a while.

She looked esenyurt escort at him, happy that he seemed a bit more relaxed, staring as much in wonder and perplexity now as in fear. She began to come back to consciousness of herself. One thing was as obvious as it was unexpected, though of course it was natural enough. She was wet. She had wet her pants with a Niagara of juice. She almost giggled. She could feel her lips were swollen down there. She could do with a fuck. She really could – she was dying for a fuck, she would like a nice fat cock up her cunt fucking her. She enjoyed reciting these words to herself, the sort of thing she said to herself when she masturbated. But poor boy – he couldn’t really be expected to take any more startling experiences, and anyhow he had come. Yet to stop now – really that was too much of a self sacrifice, and anyway had he had a lot more to learn, didn’t he?

“How about me?” she said, “Women get excited too. And it’s about time you knew how it really is when they are.” She stood up swiftly, slipped down her white pants and kicked them off, then straddled him facing him, one knee on the bed on each side of his chest. She dragged up her skirt with one hand and leant right back on the other. She must be looking quite a sight, her vest round her neck, her tits hanging out, her skirt round her waist, and now her cunt there staring him in the face. She looked down on the black hair on her mound, shuffled about to get her knees wide and to lean back as far as she could. “That’s it,” she said, “Look at it, that’s a real one, its fucked and had children. It’s all swollen because I liked doing to you. It feels open. Is it open?”

He was staring at it. “A bit,” he said – the first words he had spoken – maybe she was getting somewhere.

She moved a hand over her cunt, opened the lips with two fingers, slid a finger up her vagina, then out, moved it to rub her clitoris to and fro, then held her lips open for him to see. “There it all is,” she said, “My vagina, and where I pee from, and my clit. For real.” He was staring up her cunt like Ali Baba when the doors of the cave of treasure opened for him. But she was dreadfully uncomfortable leaning back on one arm. Also she didn’t care by now. Not any more. This was what they both needed. “You’re a good sucker,” she said, “My tit loved it. Do your best this time.”

She spun round, lowered her cunt onto his face, and queened him briefly, rubbing her hair and wetness and smell all over his mouth and chin and nose and brow. Then she shoved her cunt down on his mouth. He did not know what to do with it, other than filling his mouth with her hair. So she thrust a hand down, opened the lips of her cunt for him, got her wet flesh down on each side of his mouth. It was just as it had been with her breast. Hesitation, fumbling – then avid licks and sucks. She had never known such a tongue, lapping away at her like a dog at its water bowl. She loved the feel, but also his excitement. This was better for him than wanking.

Facing his heels, she saw to her surprise that his cock was already twitching and stretching itself again. That was youth, she supposed. She bent her head and with some effort – people never fit one another quite as easily as they do in his magazines, she thought – she got her tongue at the head of his cock and licked lingeringly around it. Then she gave it an encouraging suck, not fierce, a caring and loving suck, just the thing a diffident cock needed. And how she liked it. The warmth, the taste of cock. Abruptly, the rewarding tang of his pre-cum. The cock stretched itself, grew rigid. Oh, she loved it. She was away now. In a world of cock. It’s little eye opening and closing as she rubbed the glans. That cute little seam which led from the eye to the glans. Licking around the rim, and how his cock jerked and almost spasmed at it. Then slow soft steady sucks, almost soothing him into coming. She had not had a cock in her mouth for so long. She loved cock. This cock, hers, for her use, right in front of her eyes, between her lips, at the back of her mouth.

Meanwhile he was licking away. She was soaking him in juice, she could feel it. He would not get her to come, he didn’t know how, but she liked not coming, esenyurt eve gelen escort not yet, getting more and more excited, wild.

She knew what she wanted now. She could not ask him for that. He had done enough, poor lad. But why not?. She wanted it. He could learn a woman could want it. She stopped a moment, called back, ‘Lick my bottom.’ She shifted forwards a bit. He stopped licking, paused. His hands gripped the cheeks of her bottom, partly to pull him up, partly to separate the cheeks. He was going to do it. Was he? Then, sudden, as eager and carried away as all his suckings, his tongue round her bottom hole, round and round, then pushing inside, as far as he could get, not within the muscle but into the softer more open space in front of it, round and round, in and out, rimming her. He shifted, to get his nose at her, almost in her. Wanting to smell her. She heard him sniff at her. Like a dog at a dog’s bum. Animal. Then back to licking round her and around.

The sensation missed out er vagina but went straight to her clit. It was so distended. Aching to come. She would have to fix that herself.

She pulled herself off him, span round, crouched over him, grabbed his cock between her thighs, rubbed it up and down her cunt, felt with it for the entrance to her vagina. “Look at it, look at it going in,” she said, and pulled up his head with one hand so he could see the column of his own cock vanishing into the black hair of her cunt as she sank slowly onto him. She dropped his head. Sank down till he was right inside, their hairs met, and she was sitting on his thighs. Feeling herself full of him, that lovely entered, penetrated, filled up feel. She bent forwards and started to rise and fall, fucking him, fucking his cock. So that on the downstroke her clit struck his pubic bone. That would get her off in no time. As long as he did not come too soon himself. Hopefully not when he had come already.

His head had turned to one side, eyes closed. She gripped his head in both hands, turned it to face her. “Look at me,” she said, “We’re fucking. Look at me. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…” and again and again, the stress on the moment her clit banged against him. It was aching, it was throbbing, and how could she be so wet, streaming down him and out of herself, she could feel. He was panting and staring at her, eyes wide in what looked like amazement. She fucked, fucked him. “Oh,” she said, “Oh, its coming, its coming, I can feel it, oh darling you darling, here it is, coming, I’m coming, coming.” And she did, on and on, first fast and banging, her clit shooting out spasms all over her body, then moving more slowly on him, savouring it, the declining softening easing after-come that went on and on as echoes of it ran through and through her body. And slowly she subsided, trembling all over, still with it, still experiencing it. She bent down and kissed him, whispered in his ear, “Oh you fucker, you fucker, you lovely fucker, it was lovely”.

But he had not come, or she did not think he had. And his cock was, just slightly, softening. Must remedy that – only fair to him. So, faster than she would have liked but still so excited, she whisked off him, with an effort as her thighs ached. That cock, shiny with her juice. She bent to suck. Different from last time – the taste of her own juice on him. Quick, hard now, he was so nearly ready. Her other hand squeezing his balls softly. Her finger and thumb running up and down his swollen prick where it ran behind his balls. Then stopping her sucks for a moment – her little finger into her mouth to wet it – groping around under him – and her finger up his bottom suddenly, thrusting, as she sucked him with quick firm sucks. Spunk straight into her mouth in gushes. His cock throbbing between her lips. She swallowed just like she had imagined, sucked to milk the boy, licked gently around the head to clean him.

She raised herself, turned around, bent down – and kissed his mouth with spermy lips, lingeringly.

She lay down beside him, and cradled his head on her shoulder. What could she say, what could he? It had happened. “There,” she said, motherly now, “There, it’ll be all right. Don’t worry.” Was it all dreadful, a drunken selfish blunder on her part? But it had all been so lovely, for him too. Anyway, there it was, whether they liked it or not. So they would just have to see. And with these thoughts, tired and fulfilled, and with his head sunk as if gratefully into her shoulder, she drifted off to sleep, and he with her.

[To be continued? Let’s see what response this gets…..]

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