Turning the Tables Ch. 04

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Patty listened to the familiar piccolo warble of birdsong emanating from the polarized cloudless gray sky as she felt the grass between her toes, tickling the arches of her middle-aged feet.

From the corner of her eye she detected a blurwarped motion. A dog trotted out in front of her, its overgrown chestnut shag appearing dirty and matted. The dog raised its low-slung head, peering directly into Patty's eyes. In that brief instant Patty knew but did not know what the dog was trying to impart. She desperately needed to get away.

Urgency overtaking her, Patty plodded over the green deep pile of her back yard and into the unusually long hallway at the top of the stairs. Its blackness distorted timespace, the only sliver of light coming from under the door that she knew to be her bedroom. The gummy, swaying ropebridge floor made it increasingly difficult for her to make any progress. She could hear the muffled sound of lusty goat bleats coming from behind the closed door, and she felt dread for the first time.

The vacuumblackness of the hallway dissolved into the surroundings of her salmon glowing twilight-bathed bedroom. Patty stood just inside the open door watching herself on the bed, her head buried between her son's thighs. Patty on the bed raised herself on her elbows, positioning herself on her right side and cocked her head to fling her hair away from her face and her reflective Cheshire cat grin.

"I licked his balls", Patty on the bed cooed as she slowly caressed her large porcelain smile with the tip of her tongue. "Mmmmmmmm, watch me lick his balls and eat his ass out. I'm gonna eat him out."

Patty watched and, even though she stood by the door, she was able to taste the flavor of her son's balls. She felt the yielding wrinkliness of his soft sack fill her mouth.

Now, she was looking up the length of Mike's body, into his pleading eyes. She buried her face, tongue first into his ass. The tip of her tongue darted over his puckered entryway, her cheeks pressed against the fullness of his flesh. Mike moaned.

As she raised her head, her nostrils saturated with Mike's essence, she heard the Victrola needle drop onto an old scratchy seventy-eight. She instantly recognized the warpedhollow warble of Ellington's Mood Indigo, and her mother sitting in the corner, knitting. "So long as it doesn't get weird, Patricia", she volunteered while never taking her eyes off of her stitch.

Patty hungrily enveloped the full length of Mike's hard cock in her mouth, the tingliness of his velvety supplehard shaft sliding between her lips made her wetter than she'd ever been. He began to buck. Her nose mashed against the flesh of his stomach. Her top lip pressed against his body, her bottom lip against his soft balls. She kept pace with him, sucking him. Mike's cock began to grow. It began to expand. Patty struggled to open her mouth wider and wider, until the wedgelike pressure was so severe, she briefly wondered if she'd be split apart.

Mike's cock twitched and jerked wildly in Patty's mouth.

"You're going to give him an orgasm if you continue to do THAT to him, Patricia", Patty's mother stated unapprovingly over the increasing volume of Mood Indigo.

Patty felt a strong ripple race through the underside of Mike's shaft. Mike loudly groaned from deep beyond his diaphragm as molten semen sprayed and splashed down her throat. His body writhed, and his cock pulserippled, and the semen wouldn't stop. Mike's cock was a searing seltzer bottle inside Patty's mouth, and she couldn't swallow it all regardless of how hard she tried to keep up.

Mike's cum began to fill her lungs. She choked. She was

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Thursday

Patty lurched upright in bed, gasping desperately for air. The cooling sunlight of an early October mid-morning flooded her comfortable Connecticut bedroom. Her sweatsoaked nightgown clung to the form of her middle-aged body.

The carpet felt comforting between her toes as she made her way from the bed to the bathroom, where she shed her gownwrapper and mixed the hot and cold waters for her shower.

As she felt the tingliness of the water playing over her skin she had the impression that she'd had a nightmare, although she couldn't remember what it was about.

Soon, the footprint of her dream would completely fade as her mind drifted to the discussion that she and Mike had after she sucked him off on the kitchen table the week before. Patty cried after that, filled with remorse for the loss of the relationship with her son that she was sure would ensue.

Mike and Patty were cordial for the next couple of days, but kept an uneasy distance from each other; that is, until Patty walked into the living room the following Friday and found Mike masturbating while watching reruns of Alice on CBS.

At first they were both caught off-guard. Each stood his respective ground. Mike looked into his mother's eyes, and continued masturbating.

"I really shouldn't ..." she began to stammer, all the while her eyes transfixed by the motion of Mikes hand sliding up and down the shaft of his cock. Her pussy rapidly inundated.

Patty sleepwalked over to the couch and sat beside Mike, his eyes never leaving hers. She placed her hand over his, and stopped his pumping motion. "Here, let me", she said softly. "Just watch TV. Don't look at me like that."

She began to masturbate her son, lightly, gently, but as time went on her strokes became more vigorous. By the time that the closing credits on Alice rolled up the screen, Mike's breathing was erratic, and Patty noticed his toes flexing and curling. She quickly grabbed the black bakelite ashtray from the coffee table and held it under the tip of his cock just as his whole body seized and streams of graymilky semen spurted out. She lickcleaned his cum-messy tip, and siphoned the rest out of him, so that he wouldn't drip on the couch.

After Mike came, he and Patty agreed that, even though they were both conflicted, they would try continuing but just as long as it 'didn't get weird.' Whereas they were mother and son, they didn't want their relationship to get 'incestuous.' Rather, it was just about 'helping each other out' when either of them needed 'relief', and it wouldn't interfere with their relationships with other people. No open mouth kissing, or anything of that sort. And they were fine with that, at least on the surface.

They had an open and frank discussion about what each of them liked, sexually. It was probably the most honest moment in their lives to that point.

The next evening, Mike's father drove into New Haven to dine with a client. After their fish stick dinner, Mike asked Patty for a blowjob, while they sat on the couch watching television. Patty obliged, her head bobbing up and down in her son's lap, her slipperyhot tongue snaking its way around his supplehard shaft for nearly twenty minutes.

Mike felt an urgent tingling in his balls that was spreading up his stomach to his chest.

"Uhhhh, mom, I'm gonna cum."

A lightninghot flash of anger overcame Patty. She swiftly lifted her mouth off of mike's throbbing prick.

"Don't you EVER say that! Don't you EVER call me 'mom' while I'm blowing you! It's rude, and it's completely inappropriate. When I'm giving you physical pleasure, my name is 'Patty', not 'mom.' Do you understand me?"

Startled, Mike nodded silently.

Patty's mouth returned to Mike's now softening cock. She licked it like an ice cream cone until Mike exploded in her mouth.

Patty's mind returned to the present as she grabbed the fluffiest terrycloth towel she had, and dried herself off after her shower.

By noon, even the faint impression of her nightmare was lost to the ages.

In the kitchen that evening, while preparing dinner, Patty began to hum the old familiar strain of Duke Ellington's Mood Indigo. She hadn't heard that song since she moved out of her parents' house when she married Mike's father, and she wondered why it popped into her mind now.

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