My Other Mother Ch. 12

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
Ameaner
Ameaner
1,252 Followers

Part 3

My mother is the best alarm clock ever, especially when I wake up with my cock in her mouth as I did the following Monday morning. How she got positioned without waking me, especially how she managed to suck me hard is a mystery to me, but she did.

She noticed my awakening, somehow smiled around my girth and gave me a naughty 'good morning' wink before sucking more energetically, bringing her hand into play with that great, twisty stroke she does with it.

"Mmmm. Mmmmm. (slu-urp!) Ah-bmmmmm! (slurp) Mmm-mmmbb."

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'll never get tired of sex with Mum. The woman I respected, looked up to and admired all those years she raised me sucking my cock like she was being paid to do it. I came in almost no time, groaning and writhing on the bed while her other hand rested on my chest, encouraging me to be still while I pumped her exquisite mouth full of hot, sticky cum.

My waking world was rocked as I watched her carefully let my member free of her lips, jerking in that after pleasure when they cleared my cockhead. Sitting up, she looked at me with her mouthful, cheeks actually and noticeably bulged with saliva and my huge load.

She grinned like a slutty eighteen year old, accidently allowing a little to seep out until she began to smile uncontrollably wider, a humoured panic in her eyes as her lips began to separate, a small geyser of my sperm leaping out to land on her chest before her zany sense of humour betrayed her. The rest of it dumped from her mouth, the thick white fluid pouring out and down between her lovely big breasts and over her white nightie in an erotic mess.

A disappointed laugh accompanied this eruption and she looked down at herself.

"Oh, Mum... You perverted little slut."

"I wanted to swallow it for you! You made me laugh!" she charged, pointing her accusing finger at me.

"Made you laugh!? I was trying to put my head back together!"

She laughed again, and ran a finger through the gooey mess on her chest, popping it in her mouth after and looking at me with joyfully horny, sparkling eyes.

"Son...?"

"Yes, Mummy?" I replied with a horny smile of my own, the psychological factor of this scene keeping me hard.

"Will you please rape me tonight?"

"Oh, yes."

"Make it... good?"

"I promise it'll be good."

"Make it hurt?"

"I'm gonna use you with no regard at all, like I'm only throwing you away after I'm done."

"Oh, yesss," she hissed, returning two fingers to her chest, her other hand between her legs and down the front of her light blue, thin cotton panties.

"I'm gonna treat you exactly like the dirty little whore you are, Mum."

"Uh-hh..."

"I'll pound that horny cunt senseless."

"Yesss!?"

"And then I'm gonna fuck you right up that sweet ass of yours."

" ... Uhh! Oh, ye-! Ooooh, ho- OHH! -honey you can't fu- fuck mummy's bum!?"

"Ohhh, yes, Mummy. I'm gonna fuck you're your ass whether you like it or not, you slutty little fuckdoll."

"Uhh- ahhhhh!? OH! OHHH! FUUUUUUCK, AAAAOOOOOWWWWW! Mmmmmmmm! Ohhh, fuck, yeaaaahh!"

Once again, I'll never get over sex with my mum.

Part 4

After a shower, two bowls of vegetable beef soup and some passionate necking with my other mother at the door, I was off with the bagged lunch she'd prepared, walking with a spring in my step and a smile that was undefeatable.

It was hotter than usual that Monday and, after warming up with a shovel in the cellar for a while, somebody traded me their one hour bucket brigade shift outside, preferring the shade of the rat infested cellar to the building heat of the day. Then others offered up theirs and, not minding the heat as much, I decided to take them.

Wilfe didn't have a problem with it, in fact he sent Jimmy to buy extra water for me, so I climbed out, taking off the undershirt I'd already stripped down to in favour of being bare chested with only my already mud splattered, old black jeans and hikers on.

The dumpster had gotten so full that the gate had to be closed, necessitating a six foot power lift of each full bucket in order to dump them in from the top. However, that couldn't erase the super positive vibe that was me after that morning and the incredible night before with Mum. Even thoughts of my current, many pronged worries stayed away in favour of this mood and the simple, honest, hard work that I was doing and had come to somehow appreciate. Those toiling in the cellar thought I was crazy or inhuman. (if they only knew)

During a shady lunch under an improvised tarp canopy that Wilfe had rigged up, Andy came to sit beside me, digging something out of his back pocket. It was one of those small, red Gideon bibles, the type people find in, and sometimes steal from hotel rooms.

"Check it out," he said as though it was an illicit firearm.

"It's a bible," I uselessly noted, joking afterwards, "You didn't steal it?"

"No, my mum did years and years ago," he said seriously.

"Oh. Okay."

"After our conversation, I got to thinking, you know?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so I went to visit my mother and I got this. I've been reading it just to ahhh... give it a fair chance."

"What do you think?"

"It's pretty hard to understand, but interesting. Maybe really interesting if I could get past the fucked up way it's written."

"King James English. Yeah, that's pretty fucked up alright, but you can get bibles in modern English."

"That's what Mum told me," he said. "Have you ever read it?"

"Not really. Kinda skipped through one a few times I guess, but I've never given that whole mystical scene much thought. Not till recently, anyway," I added before taking another bite of my peanut butter sandwich.

"But, it's not mystical, it's religious."

"Same thing, isn't it?"

"Well... fuck do I know... All I know is that I don't wanna quit eating steak and pork chops."

We both chuckled, but he added, "Hey, I'll get one of those normal English bibles and let you know, though."

"Let me know what?"

"You know. What it's all about and stuff."

"I got a funny feeling I won't be working here that long, Andy."

"No? That'll be too bad. Wilfe'll miss you."

"I'll actually miss this," I admitted. "But... I'm expecting the mother ship to swing by any time now and you know how it is with commitments being commitments and all..."

I'd said that seriously, watching his confused reaction before I could no longer keep from laughing, he joining in.

"Shhhiiit, man, you're fucked!"

"Yeah, you got that right. If you had any idea just how well and truly fucked I- Uh oh."

His eyes followed mine, spotting the approaching guy in his thirties with a clipboard, tie and nametag on his crisp white shirt. He was looking over our hastily constructed awning, his brows knit together with a frown as he consulted his clip board for a moment.

It turned out he was from the Building Inspector's office and had a problem with our shade giver. Wilfe approached him and the conversation that ensued shortly turned to debate. We sat there in the shade, watching this exchange while eating and I couldn't help but be impressed by the tired old fox and the way his argument was only meant to stall the inspector, keeping our awning up until the rest of our lunch break was over. He knew he'd lose and argued accordingly while the idiot with the tie actually stood and listened to him ramble on, muddying the waters and running off topic with his professional obligations and even personal problems.

Old Wilfe was pretty good, but with ten minutes left to our lunch, he ran out of patience from the low ranking official, having to back down just before he got a fine.

I honestly didn't see what the big deal was and was getting up, my third peanut butter sandwich still only half eaten when an idea hit me, one of those little dares from inside that I can't resist.

Wilfe stalked away from his victorious adversary in disgust, calling Jimmy to help him tear down our sun shelter as I approached the city employee. Taking note of the nametag that identified him as Sean Waterman, I spoke to him quite casually.

"Hey, Sean."

Of course, he looked right up from the clipboard that held the form he was studiously filling out, suddenly curious as to who it was that might know him, being that I'd used his first name. Before he could remember that he had it plainly written out on his chest, his eyes met mine and, after several tense seconds, I drew him in, felt him give for me. His face went blank, eyes following its example a second later.

"There's nothing wrong with that awning, Sean."

" ... I..."

"I would never lie to you."

" ... No. No, you'd never lie to me."

"You're too smart for that."

"Too smart..." he agreed.

"There's nothing wrong with that awning."

He looked over at it and the slowly milling, filthy men who were under and now around it.

"Is there?" I asked

"No," he replied with mild surprise. "There's nothing wrong with that awning at all."

"Better tell him to leave it where it is. You'll get fired if they take it down."

"Hey! No, just leave that!" he called waving his arm, mild surprise turning to worry. "Just... yeah, it's good, just leave it!"

"Don't forget to make sure your documentation backs you up. If it doesn't, you'll get fired for that, too."

"Yes, my doc.... docu..." he trailed off, tearing the form he was filling out from the tablet and starting a fresh one.

I ate my sandwich, dropping bread crumbs on his clipboard as he worked away until he signed the bottom a minute later.

"Sean, just forget all about us and that awning now."

"About what?" he asked, now confused.

"Go away and don't come back, Sean."

"I'm... I'm going away," he proclaimed as though the idea were his. "And I'm not coming back."

With that, he spun on his heel and walked back the way he'd come, not even looking back.

Wow.

I went back to the shelter with my sandwich and sat against the wall again, a little freaked out and elated, telling Wilfe when he asked that my father used to work for the Building Inspector's office in Ottawa and that he'd imparted a few loopholes and things to me. My employer took this simply and for what it was worth with a short laugh, raised brows and an incredulous shake of his head. Hey, who wouldn't?

The bad part of my Monday happened shortly after we got back to work, not quite an hour into the second half of our back breaking day. I was taking another shift outside when I saw Bruce climbing out of the window, or trying to. He looked to be struggling, but unwilling to show it. He also looked like death had warmed over. I set the bucket down and went to help the battered old guy.

"I'm okay, I... (gasp)..."

"I don't think you are, man. Lemme help you-"

"No, I'm good, just a bit... tired," he managed to pant.

He was anything but good. Rolling beads of sweat trickled down his pale face and his pupils were dilated. His trembling hands clawed for purchase and I'd become alarmed as I pulled him out of the window whether he liked it or not.

"Wilfe!' I called urgently, looking at Bruce as he slumped with his back against the wall.

"I- (gasp!) jus need a rest, kid..."

His breath was coming short and shallow and it looked as though he were going to pass out.

"Stop talking, old timer, save your breath. Wiiilfe! Call nine-one-one! Nine-one-one!"

I looked into his eyes, beginning to panic as I saw his lights going out, as he looked back into mine with sudden wonder as though he'd just figured out something he should have known his entire life. And then he just... stopped.

I felt him go. It's hard to describe. In one instant his mind was its own garden, vibrant with warm, colourful life, and the next it was an empty, desolate wasteland of lifeless dirt and decay, the thriving foliage that was there having withered to dry death that crunched underfoot in spare moments.

I found myself there, stranded in his no man's land until I was suddenly pulled away, blinking up at Wilfe in the bright sunlight. I heard myself telling him that Bruce was gone in a small, faraway voice, let him gently pull me further away from the empty husk in front of me to check for himself. My good mood of only seconds ago was as dead as tough old Bruce.

After we watched the Ambulance carry Bruce away, Wilfe gave us the rest of the day off. I'd wanted to deal with Grammie Marie that evening, but there was no way I'd ever have the mindset for it after watching and feeling Bruce exit this existence. I stopped at the same booth I'd used twice before and gave Audrey a call, hoping she wouldn't keep me on for too long.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Hi, Audrey. It's me, Steven."

There was no response, so I just asked, "Did you switch shifts with Maureen?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good. I'll be by sometime late tomorrow night, alright?"

" ... Alright. Uhh... I heard about the visit... the Pastor you brought by. Is she okay?"

"Yes, there's no problem," I said, hoping it was true, the worries over my former friend coming back to haunt me as anxiety flavoured icing on the depression cake I feasted on that late afternoon.

"Good."

After a short, uncomfortable silence, I bade her goodbye and hung up. Leaving the booth, I found as I walked that the death of my vocational acquaintance, the last natural, biological function any of us will carry out, paled in comparison to the question of what I was going to do about Marie. Bruce was decided, the situation nonthreatening and over, I reasoned. Marie was not. Not yet.

Part 5

I didn't tell Mum about what happened at work. I didn't have the chance anyway because, as I walked in the door, most of my depression evaporated at the sight of her and the memory of what I was supposed to do to her that evening.

She wore a medium gray dress with a wide, black belt at her midriff that accentuated her bust line, but not to the point of looking slutty. It buttoned up the front from about where her belly button would be and showed minimal cleavage while also covering her shoulders, long, flared sleeves matching the loose, knee length hemline. Her legs were covered by sheer black stockings and I knew there'd be a garter belt under the dress that made her look the most appetizing soccer mum on the planet.

Her hair was back from her forehead, held there by a black hair band to hang just behind her ears, completing the look of the upper class suburban housewife she once was. Dangly, silver earrings and a long necklace that disappeared down the front of her dress glittered almost as bright as her beautiful and deadly eyes as she greeted me, getting up from the table and approaching me with a warm, inviting smile.

"Hi, Sweetie pie, welcome home."

"Hi, Mum," I greeted in turn, appreciating her well covered, yet still enticing body.

Grabbing the shower bag, she passed it to me and suggested with an excited little wink, "Go get cleaned up and come on back," that wink signaling... whatever.

She was horny as hell, I could see it and I rushed through my shower and into the clean jeans and T-shirt that she'd packed into the shower bag to get quickly back to her.

"How was your day?" she asked, closing the door behind me about ten minutes later and guiding me to the table.

"The usual," I lied with a smile, so appreciative that she could make me feel so much better after such a truthfully rotten day.

"Well, just have a seat right here, Son. Mummy has a nice meal all ready for you," she said, removing a steaming plate of stew (homemade?) from the oven and placing it in front of me with the appropriate silverware and the pint bottle of whiskey, now only a third full.

"How was yours?" I asked as she sat across from me.

"Wonderful," she replied with a bright, motherly positivity.

While I ate, she filed her nails, speaking of a fictional day at the mall, the PTA and smiling affectionately at me every now and then, making it clear she was playing a part and that I should play along. Interesting. So I did and, once I was done, I pushed my plate aside, arching my back in a stretch with my hands at the back of my head as she opened a new line of conversation.

"Ummm, I think there's something we need to talk about, honey."

"Oh?"

"Yes... I was cleaning your room today and I found... well, this."

From under the phone book, she removed a Hustler magazine, the cover featuring a woman bent over with her ass pointed at the camera, a pair of black short shorts covering her essentials as she looked back with a fun loving smile.

"Oh..." I replied, feigning discomfort. "That."

"Yes... Honey... I have to wonder... I mean, I know that you're a normal, healthy boy and I'm so glad you haven't fallen into that awful homosexual trend... But... There are pictures in here of women... doing things... Sometimes with other women! I mean, I can understand you being attracted to a beautiful woman who's posing without her clothes, but what I saw in here was..."

"Well... Ummm..." I dithered.

"What would Father Stockdon say if he knew?" she admonished.

"I... suppose that would depend on what he's into?"

"That's not funny, Steven," she scolded. "Father Stockdon is a decent man and would never be interested in..." she trailed off, shaking her head in well acted disappointment as she opened the magazine. "I mean, just look at this... disgusting display of perversion!"

"Aw, Mum, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad? Just look at this!" she repeated.

She showed me an example of what supposedly offended her so, an attractive brunette woman of about her age with her hand up a schoolgirl's skirt. The expression on the young woman's face was one of surprise and shock as she tried to hold her red plaid skirt down.

"And what in god's name does 'MILF' mean?"

"You... probably don't want to know that."

"I asked you a question, young man."

" ... Well... it means, 'Mother -- I'd -- Like -- To -- Fuck.'"

"Steven! I will not tolerate that kind of language in this house!"

"Well, sorry Mum, but you asked," I replied, taking the pint and drinking from it.

"Steven!" she repeated in well acted shock at this. "Where did you get that whiskey? This is not the way I raised you!"

"Relax, Mum. I mean, I'm sorry about the porn mag and stuff, but I'm eighteen now, a man and... well, you know."

"I know that those awful friends of yours are probably responsible for all this!"

My reply was to shrug and take another drink. She was really good and I was suddenly having quite a bit of fun with this, unable to keep a smile from my face and having completely forgotten about poor Bruce.

"I don't think this is very funny, young man!" I... I think you should go speak to Father Stockdon about this. And I think you should stop associating with those hooligans from the South End! And stop drinking that!"

"Father Stockdon checks out your tits when you're not looking," I imparted.

" ... Uhh! He does not! How... dare you say that! He would never do such a thing, and if you must bring up that part of the female body, please use the proper term! 'Breasts'!"

"Well, he does, I've seen him doing it. Everybody looks at your big tits, Mum."

"Steven!" she repeated.

"It's true," I said with a shrug, taking another drink from the plastic bottle. "Even I do."

"(gasp!) Steven Edward Burchell! I am your Mother! I hardly think it's proper for you to- Steven, stop looking at them!"

"Did you see the picture where those three guys came all over that woman's tits and face?" I asked, looking directly at her boobs.

"Yes, I did and it was disgusting!"

"I thought it was pretty cool. Some women really like that, you know."

Ameaner
Ameaner
1,252 Followers