One
She’s so fucking hot!
I can just imagine bending her over that desk and tearing her skirt off. She’d be scared, but getting wetter by the second as I yank down her knickers and run my fingers over her sticky vulva. I’d have to rip off her blouse too. Get a good look at her tits in that lacy bra she always used to wear underneath. I’m sure she was deliberately baiting me. Daring me to hold her down and force her legs open.
Oh fuck, that’s done it. I’m coming! Uh, shit. Need a sock or something, quick!
Fuck it. Can’t be bothered. Shoot in my underpants. Let it dry to a crust while I lie back and rest for a while.
Man, if I was still at uni, I’d actually do it. I’d go right into Miss Green’s office and put my hands on her. I’d grab her by the hair and kiss her so hard, she’d be weak at the knees. Her glasses would go all skew-whiff and she’d stutter as she tried to compose herself.
“I’m your tutor!” she’d complain. “This is very inappropriate, John. Oh my goodness, is that your thing poking me in the leg? It’s very big, isn’t it? Perhaps I should take a look at it.”
I fucked up, didn’t I? She wasn’t much older than me. Still in her twenties for sure. We could have made it work. I had so many one-on-one tutorials with her and I never made my move.
So now I’m stuck. Still a virgin at twenty-two. No job. Barely any friends. Daren’t even talk to a girl. What would be the point? I’m a loser. They’d only laugh at me.
At least I have my memories. At least I have porn. At least I have my online stories. There’s plenty of ways to get off that don’t involve a woman. They’re practically superfluous nowadays!
Well, I’ll keep telling myself that, anyway. It’s the only way I’ll be able to stay sane.
“John!” Mum calls up the stairs. “Are you coming down for your tea?”
“I’ll be right there, Mum!”
Ah, my lovely Mum. Always taking care of me. Thank God I can still live here at home. If she turfed me out, I’d be hopeless. Either on the street or living in some dingy bedsit on benefits.
I wish she could find someone. She’d actually have a chance if she put herself out there. She’s gorgeous. All that long dark hair. And the way she dresses. So conservative, but stylish in her own way. Understated makeup. A good figure. I can’t believe I’m even thinking this, but she has very full tits. She’s not one to flaunt them, but if even her son notices, then surely other people do. I wonder why she doesn’t go on an app or something. She’d have her pick of men. I hope she isn’t still pining after my Dad.
That fucker ditched us years ago. While I was away at uni, he just fucked off. Literally packed his things and bolted while Mum was at the office one day. I’m sure he’d been planning it for ages. He waited until I was old enough that he wouldn’t have to pay child support.
Mum went through a hell of a depression. Begged me to come home from uni. She was in such a state I nearly quit the course. In the end she settled for me coming home every other weekend.
Now that I’m past graduation, it’s actually kind of cool being the man of the house. She doesn’t expect me to do any chores any more. She always cooks the foods I like. She even brings me a beer when we sit down to watch our shows on weekend nights.
Anyway, time to eat. Wonder what Mum’s cooked up for us today?
I can smell the pasta from the top of the stairs. It’s the one she does with the red pesto, cream and bacon. And there’ll be garlic bread too! I can’t get to the table fast enough.
As usual, Mum has laid out the placemats, glasses, cutlery and bowls, and chosen a wine that goes with the food. Today we’re having a Beaujolais, apparently. The bottle is open to breathe, and I take a quick sniff. I know fuck all about wine, that was my Dad’s thing, not mine, but this stuff is certainly not offensive. I’ll drink it. I swear she really spoils me.
“Here we are, my love,” Mum says, bringing in a hot ceramic pan from the oven.
She lays it on the wooden board in the centre of the table. The penne has been baked with a topping of melted cheese, browning at the edges. My mouth is watering already.
Mum removes her oven gloves and takes her seat.
I’m reaching for the tablespoon to help myself to a large portion of the baked pasta, when Mum’s hand slaps me on the wrist. I always try, but I never get away with it. It’s part of the ritual.
“We say grace, first, John,” she says, bringing her hands together in prayer.
I’m not a believer myself, but I do this just for Mum. I put my hands together and close my eyes.
Mum always starts with a silent prayer. She told me it’s good to get into the habit of asking God to bless you with the things you want to bring into your life, whether that’s good health, prosperity or world peace, because it will remind you to thank God for those things when they arrive. I’ve taken to asking for things that are a little more selfish, I admit, but since I don’t believe it to begin with, it’s just a laugh, isn’t it?
Dear God, I think to myself, how about you bless me with a gorgeous older woman who can’t get enough of my young cock? And maybe you could upgrade my PC to the latest graphics card? And perhaps also do something for poor people?
That last bit only seems fair. Might as well, eh?
“For what we are about to receive,” Mum says, “may the Lord make us truly thankful.”
“Amen,” I say.
“Amen,” Mum agrees.
God-bothering out of the way, it’s finally time to tuck in! I take Mum’s bowl first and dish up a decent portion for her. She will only eat so much of it because she likes to keep herself trim. Then onto my own bowl, which I fill to the brim. I will probably have a second helping too. I’m a growing lad, you know!
Mum grates the hard cheese over our bowls, and I go for the pepper grinder.
I take a slice of garlic bread and load it up with pasta before taking a bite. It’s perfect. You can always rely on Mum.
She pours out a glass of the red for each of us, and I take a healthy swig to wash down my mouthful of food.
Holding her own glass aloft, Mum proposes a toast.
“Here’s to a happy, healthy future,” she says.
“Cheers!” I say, clinking my glass to hers.
The meal is kind of quiet. Usually we discuss Mum’s work stresses. She’s an office manager and there’s always some petty drama going on that she wants to get off her chest. And she loves to ask what I’ve been up to during the day. Have I been applying to jobs? Finding a way to put my degree to good use? Is there a young lady I’ve been talking to?
The answer is usually ‘no’, ‘no’ and, you guessed it, ‘no’. But to keep her sweet I usually bullshit her about a possible interview, or suggest that there’s a girl I have my eye on at the local library. I think we both know it’s all nonsense. She’d freak out if I was honest and told her I spent the day looking at porn and playing videogames.
Today might be the day that she finally stops asking.
“John,” she says, “we really have to have an honest discussion.”
Oh dear. I was afraid of this. Please please please… don’t tell me I have to get a job or move out!
“What’s up, Mum?” I ask.
“I was talking with Bridget at work,” she says. “She has a son your age - Will, they call him - and he’s just got engaged to the prettiest girl.”
Well bully for Will, I guess. Fucking over-achiever.
“Oh?” I say. “Good for him.”
“Yes, she’s over the moon, Bridget. She was asking after you. I didn’t know what to tell her. I know you haven’t been out much lately, have you, John?”
I’ve been rumbled.
“You’re wasting away up in your room, aren’t you?” she asks.
“I don’t know if I’d call it ‘wasting’, exactly,” I say. “I do a bit of streaming now and then. I can monetise it once I’ve got ten thousand followers.”
“How many followers have you got now?”
Fuck. She’s not daft, is she? Better tell the truth.
“Nine. But everyone starts out small!”
“Look, John,” she says, looking me in the eye. “It hasn’t escaped my attention that half the time, when you come down those stairs, there’s a wet patch on your jeans.”
Fuck, this is making me go red, isn’t it? Where do I look? What do I do with my hands? Take a sip of wine.
“I’m glad you’re not trying to deny it,” she says. “It’s a sin, you know, spilling all that seed.”
Oh, Christ. Here we go with the moralising.
“Not to mention the harm it’s doing to your body and mind. You’re never going to find someone if you’re looking at naked women and abusing yourself all day.”
At least she knows it’s women I’m looking at.
“It’s a natural thing, Mum,” I protest. “Everyone does it.”
“Maybe a lot of people do, but certainly not everyone. And certainly not five times a day!”
Heh, that’s a conservative estimate! The record is in double figures, not that I’m in a hurry to tell her that. I just have a lot to get out of my system.
“So I’ve decided we’re going to make some changes around here,” she says. “I’m taking away your laptop and the monitor for your desktop PC. I might let you use the laptop in the evening, here, downstairs at the table, under my supervision.”
No! My Mum isn’t like this. She’s always so accommodating. Why is she being a bitch?
“But Mum,” I say, “What about my streaming? What about my followers?”
“I looked at your account, love. You haven’t streamed anything in six weeks!”
“I’m just waiting for the new game to come out.”
“Forget it,” she says. “And I’m going to be checking your clothes and your sheets every morning and evening. You’ll not be touching yourself any more, understand?”
Fucking hell, she’s serious isn’t she?
“What do you mean,” I ask, “checking my clothes and sheets?”
“I’m going to be on the look out for stains,” she says. “I was married to your father for nearly twenty years. I know what a semen stain looks like. And if I find one, you’ll be living on bread and water. No more sitting at the table for home cooked meals and bottles of wine.”
“Come on Mum,” I say, “This is crazy. You’re not going to feed me bread and water!”
“My house, my rules. If you don’t like it, you can find somewhere else to live.”
I guess she’s finally over Dad, then, if she’s happy for me to move out. That’s something, I suppose.
“We’re going to see some changes around here,” she says, picking up her fork again. “You mark my words.”
There’s no point protesting, is there? She has me by the balls. Fuck my life.
I seem to have lost my appetite all of a sudden. I’ve barely had half a bowl of pasta and I’m not going to be able to finish it.
In a surprise move, Mum has cleaned her plate for a change. What has got into her? She really must have been embarrassed that she couldn’t brag about me to her colleagues.
She’s sipping from her glass when I put down my fork.
“I think I’ve had enough,” I say, and push my chair back to get up from the table.
“Before you go anywhere,” Mum says, “you can stand there and let me have a look at you.”
What’s this all about now? I get to my feet.
Mum points her finger at the tiny dark patch on my jeans, just below and to the left of my fly.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” she says. “Disgusting!”
Does she have to humiliate me like this?
“Take those mucky clothes off right now!” she commands.
As if it couldn’t get any worse!
“I’m serious, John,” she says, then raises her voice. “I’ll not have you going about in clothes you’ve soiled. Get them off, now!”
Mum hasn’t raised her voice to me in years. I’d better do as she says. I take off my socks, jeans and T-shirt, leaving them in a pile on the floor. There’s a bigger wet patch in my boxers.
“You dirty little boy!” Mum says. “I knew it! Get them off!”
“Mum, these are my underpants!”
“GET THEM OFF!”
I’m a grown man! This is madness! But I take them off, just as she asked. I cover my cock and balls with one hand, and I’m about to drop my undies onto the pile of dirty clothes, when Mum stops me.
“No,” she says. “Give them here.”
She holds out her hand and I present her with the garment. She snatches it, as if I was going to deny her.
“This is semen, isn’t it?” she asks, rubbing a thumb over the wet patch.
She already knows, surely. Why all the drama? Is it just to make me feel bad? Because it’s working.
“Yes, Mum,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Disgusting!” she says. “You’re a filthy little pig! What are you?”
“I’m a filthy little pig,” I say. I can feel myself blushing.
She throws the undies onto the pile of clothes and casually pops her thumb in her mouth, sucking it clean. It’s out as quickly as it went in, and she barks at me again before I’ve fully registered what just happened.
“Get your hands off your penis, John! You’ll not touch it except to use the toilet from now on, understand?”
“But,” I begin.
“No buts! Get your hands off it!”
I can only get so red, can’t I? Still, it feels like I’m flushing hotter than ever as I take my hand away from my groin and put it by my side. My cock and balls hang in the air, feeling strangely warm.
I’m not sure where to look, so I look at the floor. The room is silent, except for the sound of Mum taking another sip of wine. For some reason, I feel compelled to have a quick look in her direction.
She’s staring at me. Actually, not at me, not at my face at least, but at my cock and balls. Her lips are pursed as she moves the wine around her tongue in the way wine people do, to detect the hints of nut or salt or whatever. As I look at her lips moving in that oddly sensual way, it finally dawns on me that she must have licked traces of my cum from her thumb, and maybe it’s interfering with her evaluation of the wine.
I can feel my cock filling out as she gazes at it. I don’t know what to do. Mum hasn’t dismissed me yet. Is she going to be mad if I walk away? Am I supposed to pick up my clothes and put them in the laundry basket, or does she need to keep checking them for stains?
“You dirty little boy,” she says. “You’re getting an erection in front of me? I’m your mother!”
“I’m sorry, Mum,” I murmur. “I can’t help it.”
It’s true. I’m willing it to go down, but the damn thing is at full strength, pointing right at Mum’s face, and pulsing.
Mum grabs her dessert spoon and whacks the tip of my cock with it. It’s not the harshest blow, but it does sting.
“Ow!”
“That’s what you get,” she says, “for being a filthy sinner!”
She throws the spoon on the table. The clatter of metal against wood makes me jump more than being hit with it did.
“Now you wait here while I go and get your laptop,” she says. “You can think about how you’re going to behave in future.”
She gets up from the table and strides out of the room and up the stairs.
My cock is still smarting from the spoon, but it’s not going down. If anything, I think it might actually be growing. It’s only about twenty minutes since I last emptied my balls, and at this rate, I’m going to turn them blue.
I have to think about something that’s not sexy. Come on, it’s easy! There’s Mum, for starters. She’s not sexy, is she? Certainly not today. She’s strict. She’s harsh. She’s angry. And think about the back of that spoon hitting my cock. That wasn’t sexy at all, that was painful.
Oh God, it’s not working. My balls are getting tighter. There’s even a blob of precum forming at my pisshole, for fuck’s sake! What’s wrong with me?
Should I wipe it off, before Mum sees? Too late, she’s coming back. She has my laptop under her arm.
“Right,” she says, moving her bowl aside and placing the laptop on her placemat. “Let’s see what my naughty boy has been looking at today.”
Shit shit shit! Did I close the tabs? I think I did. I hope to Christ I did.
“What’s your passcode?” Mum asks.
“Five nine five nine,” I say, unable to stop myself.
“Good boy,” she says, typing the code.
She holds down Alt and presses Tab until she has my browser highlighted. As she releases Tab, the window fills the screen, showing my facebook page and no other content.
Phew! There’s obviously nothing on there that I’m not happy for her to see. Bit of a lucky escape considering what I was looking at when I got up this morning.
Oh shit. Mum’s navigating to the History. She knows what she’s doing. Of course she does. She’s not so old that she doesn’t know how to use the internet. She works with computers every day! And she’s opening all my recent links in new tabs!
“Do you want to explain to me what this is all about, John?” she says.
“Erm, well, I…”
“It says here ‘Sex Practice With Mom And Sister’. And this one says ‘Hairy Milf Gives Stepson A Lesson In Anal’.”
She could read them quietly if she wanted to! She doesn’t have to say them out loud!
“Is this the sort of filth that you watch all the time?”
“No, Mum,” I say. “I only just found that site.”
“There’s a long list here, John,” she says. “It goes back weeks and weeks.”
“Does it? Maybe I’m getting mixed up.”
Mum gives me an angry look.
“Do not lie to me, John,” she says. “I am your mother. I put a roof over your head and food in your belly. If you lie to me, I will come down on you so hard you won’t know what day it is!”
Just tell her the truth.
“I’m sorry, Mum,” I say. “You’re right. I’ve been looking at porn every day for ages.”
“And is it always this same kind of filth? The Stepmom stuff? The Milf stuff?”
“Yes, pretty much.”
“Thank you for being honest. But it doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. I’m serious about this. You’re going to stop looking at porn and you’re going to stop touching yourself, aren’t you? Promise me.”
I still daren’t look her in the eye for more than a split second.
“Yes, Mum,” I say. “I promise.”
She seems satisfied with that. Then her eyes land on my cock again.
“You’re still aroused,” she says, clearly annoyed. “And what is THAT?”
“Mum?”
She’s out of her chair so fast, I flinch. Then she’s bending to get a close look, her hand reaching out, her thumb and forefinger taking hold of my bell end.
Jesus Christ, Mum’s got her hand on my hard cock!
“You’re a dirty boy, aren’t you, John?”
“Yes, Mum,” I say, meek as a mouse.
She squeezes the head of my cock between her fingers, bringing up her other hand to wipe the blob of precum from the tip.
She lets go of my cock and waves her finger with the precum in my face. She’s so enraged I feel like she’s going to poke my eye out.
“Were you touching yourself while I was upstairs?” she asks.
“No, Mum, I swear,” I say. “It just got hard and started leaking on its own!”
Her eyes narrow as she studies my face for traces of dishonesty. I’m practically shitting myself, even though I know I’m being as truthful as I can.
She takes a deep breath and shrugs off the investigation for now.
“A likely story!” she scoffs.
She resumes her seat at the table, rubbing her finger and thumb together, lubricated as they are with my precum. With her right hand she continues to look through the history, opening links every now and then, playing a few seconds of porn here and there.
My cock is still aching to be stroked. More precum is leaking out. Hope Mum doesn’t notice it.
“Right, off you go,” she says. “You’re dismissed. I don’t want to see you down here again tonight. I’ll deal with the laundry.”
That’s that, then. I turn to leave, casting a quick eye back at the screen, where Mum is looking at a clip I watched last week, entitled ‘Nasty Mummy Lends Son A Hand’.
Ashamed, I march up the stairs to my room.
My first thought as soon as my bedroom door is closed is to fire up the PC, but a quick check reveals that the HDMI cable has been confiscated. Of course it has.
So all I have is my bookshelf, and my phone. I could bring up a video on my phone, but it feels like a trap. Like Mum’s going to burst through the door any second, trying to catch me in the act.
I put the phone back on my bedside table and turn to the bookshelf. There’s actually some good stuff here. I haven’t read a book since uni. Maybe it’s time I tried looking at words on a page again.
I settle down on my bed with a sci-fi thriller. I’m only a few pages in when I realise my cock has completely deflated. That’s something at least. A bit of escapism can take my mind off this fucked up situation.
Before I know it, the alien spiders in the novel have evolved a whole society and the clock is showing almost eleven pm. I can hear Mum in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. I’m tired enough to get some sleep, but I’ll take care of my oral hygiene first.
Stepping into the brightly lit bathroom, I note that Mum has changed into her nightie. It’s a sheer black one that only comes as low as her upper thighs, and it’s much less modest than what she usually wears. Maybe it’s because the weather has been getting warmer? Certainly the air has been hot enough that I haven’t bothered dressing since Mum forced me to strip during dinner.
“I’m glad to see you’ve learned to control that thing,” Mum says, taking her toothbrush out and nodding at my flaccid cock.
“It’s not that, Mum,” I say. “It genuinely has a mind of its own. I can’t control it one way or the other.”
“Huh,” she grunts.
I’m not sure how to take that. Seems like she’s still a little upset with me. At least she’s not being nasty.
I grab my toothbrush and the tube of Macleans. I’m squeezing out a dollop of paste but I can feel Mum’s eyes on me. The realisation that I’m being scrutinised from behind is quickly followed by a flush of heat in my groin.
No! Please, no! Not now, I think, broadcasting the thought to my cock. Just give me five minutes to get to my room, then you can chub up all you like.
It’s no use. The toothbrush is in my mouth and I’m trying with all my will to focus on the minty taste, the sensation of the bristles and the sound of the running tap, but my mind is intent on returning to the idea that Mum is looking at my behind. I can’t help but associate it with that time I thought Miss Green was checking me out. My cock inflates.
Maybe if I stay close to the sink, I can get away with it. Maybe it will have gone down by the time I’m done brushing. Maybe Mum will have left the room by then.
No. I can see her in the mirror. She’s up from sitting on the edge of the bathtub, and she’s coming toward the sink. She needs to spit.
At the precise moment she’s within touching distance, I turn to the right and step away. It should be a perfect manoeuvre, no chance for Mum to notice my erection, but in my haste I jostle the air freshener and artificial flowers on the windowsill. I have to scramble to avoid the vase falling to the floor and smashing.
Phew! I caught the vase. But now Mum has put down her toothbrush and is coming to pick up the flowers and the can of airfreshener. I can’t turn away, I have to put the vase back.
“For goodness’ sake, John,” she says. “Could you be any more clumsy?”
Mum looks strangely alluring with all the white foam around her lips. She bends at the hips and knees, and I get a glimpse between her legs as the thin material of her nightie rides up. I don’t even see anything I can identify, besides a brief flash of pink flesh, but somehow, even though it’s my mother, the suggestion of pussy sends further surges of blood into my cock.
I’m not a sicko. If I’d had my usual couple of evening wanks, this wouldn’t even be happening.
And then she’s spotted it. Her hands are full of plastic peonies, and my cock is right at her eye level.
I see her face react. It’s shock, isn’t it? Or maybe wonder? Her eyes are wide, her mouth is gaping open, and her tongue flicks out to moisten her lower lip. I hear the sound of plastic flowers hitting the floor again as her hands go limp.
God, I just want the ground to swallow me up.
Why is she staring at it like that? She already saw it earlier. Oh, shit. Now her eyes are narrowing, lips pursing. It’s disgust that I can see now. She must think I’m some kind of creep.
“Why on Earth can’t you control yourself?” she asks, clearly exasperated.
Mum gets to her feet, leaving the flowers where they are.
The vase is barely out of my hands and back on the window sill when my whole body seizes up. Mum has grabbed my hard cock in her fist, and is jabbing my chest with the index finger of her other hand.
“You’re going to bring shame on this family if you keep up these antics,” she says. “You’re just like your bloody father!”
The pain from her repeated jabs makes me wince. I swear, each time her pointed finger digs into my ribs, there’s a corresponding tug on my cock from her other hand.
“The next time Bridget asks what you’re up to these days,” she says, “am I supposed to tell her you’re a filthy little boy who goes round trying to shock his mother with revolting displays of this big hard cock?”
But that’s not who I am at all, I want to say. This is all a misunderstanding!
“I’m sorry, Mum,” is all that comes out of my mouth.
I’m still reeling from hearing her say ‘cock’. I hate to think my behaviour has upset my Mum so much that she’s started swearing. Feels weird, but I think I liked hearing her describe it as big and hard.
Finally, the jabbing stops. She still has hold of my cock. My heart is hammering in my chest. What will be my punishment?
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” she says. “If you’re not going to learn a bit of self-discipline, I suppose it falls on me to do the disciplining round here.”
Her grip on me is strangely comforting. I want to thrust in her hand. I try not to move a muscle, but I feel the involuntary pulsing of my cock against her skin.
She loosens her hold on me, disengaging slowly. It’s almost a caress as her palm sweeps over the tip, leaving it to bounce as she turns away to the sink.
I continue brushing as Mum bends to the tap to rinse her mouth out. Her nightie rides up again, bringing her bare, round bottom into view.
I don’t know what possesses me, but first I’m tilting to the side, then squatting down to get a better view of my Mum in her knickerless state.
I see the swell of her outer lips, separated by the pink frill of her inners, which appear to be glistening with wetness. I swear her legs part just a little, right while I’m ogling her.
And then she’s straightening up. All done with her rinse.
I lose my balance for a moment, but steady myself with a quick hand on the linoleum. It’s too late to be on my feet unnoticed, as I catch Mum’s eye in the mirror before I’m able to stand.
Fuck! I get up, but Mum has already turned to face me.
“Pervert!” she yells, lashing out with her hand.
The slap stings the left side of my face.
“I’m your mother!”
Another slap. Same side. It’s not the pain of it, it’s the fact that I’ve let Mum down.
“I’m going to bed,” she says as I stare at my feet, “and you’d better pray that I calm down before I’m home from work tomorrow because, God help me, John, your life won’t be worth living!”
And then she’s gone. Off to bed. Slammed door and all.
Why did I do that? What is wrong with me? Look at my cock. It’s harder than ever. I must be some kind of deviant.
I finish my brushing. Rinse off the foam. Get into bed.
I feel like crying, but it’s not like my Mum is going to listen or comfort me. All I can do is lie in the dark hoping my cock will go down, until sleep finally comes to claim me.
