A Mother's Touch Ch. 02

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Author's Note: This is a 40K word story, divided into chapters for easier read. It was initially thought as a short story that grown into a bigger work, and it's a slow burn because that's how I enjoy writing at the moment. Your comments and opinions are welcomed.

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Chapter 2 - Dark Temptation

"Will you be there?" Adam asked his mother, gym bag over his shoulder, biceps curled in a promiscuous flex. His smile made her shiver, and she wished she could keep some feelings at bay.

Marge tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked up at her son. "Yes. Natasha is coming with me, too."

He leaned down and kiss her on the cheek. A fire burned throughout her, and everything turned into a blur, and before she knew it, she was falling back, with the world spinning around like a comet around the sun, heart skipping too many beats, and the lights fading away. Only Adam's voice was real, but he was too distant, fading, fading in the darkness.

It was an eternity for her, but in fact, it was less than three minutes of darkness. Something was on her lips, wetting them, gentle hands tapping on her face. A tiny fringe of light came through, and Adam's enormous vulture emerged from the shadows.

"Mom?"

A pang of anguish broke the velvet of his voice. "Mom, are you ok?" he asked again, a state of worry she had never seen before, firm hands holding her head, and helping her to drink.

"What happened?" she inquired, holding Adam's wrist. "You were about to leave for your game."

"You fainted, mom."

"Oh." Her lips were dry, and she accepted more water. Big, strong arms, with muscles she followed, tracing them back to his hairy armpits, and caring eyes. "I fainted?" He positioned behind her and helped to sit up on the couch.

"How's your head?"

She hummed. "It's ok. You need to go."

"I'm not leaving you."

Some color was finally emerging into Marge's thick lips. "It's ok. I'm ok now. I used to have this in the past, your father..." she made a pause as if reciting his name would be worse than blasphemy, "...a few times. I'll see doctor Sneider tomorrow."

"You promise?"

"I do." She forced a smile. Her head was still spinning, and she couldn't stop thinking about her sins from before, and how much there was between Adam's legs. She was never one to think about sizes, or to even considerate a man's value based on such a vanity thing, but the image imprinted in her head since this morning was the spit image of his father. She recalled the day he finally allowed her to touch it, to discover his secret.

She waved goodbye as Adam jogged his way to the stadium a few hours before the game. Today was important, but not decisive. Her afternoon slowly went away in a shower and makeup. Natasha rang the doorbell, ready to take her to the stadium, and both women, best friends since an eternity ago, were looking their best.

Natasha, a slim but yet imposing woman, had a long green polka dress that shouted summer everywhere, and high heels to make her taller than the players in the game.

"You going like that?" she inquired, seeing Marge emerging from the front door wearing jeans and a blouse.

"What's wrong with this? It's classic."

"You just look too gorgeous. All those football boys won't leave you alone."

And what was meant to be a fun remark turned words into a curse, as Marge felt horribly guilty. "I'll change, then. Just give me a few minutes."

Natasha stepped out of the car. "What? Oh, come on, don't be all catholic now. It was a joke."

She was pale, palms sweating, leaning against the doorway. Somehow, everything was too real to her. Natasha held her hand and went to get some water from the kitchen. The impact of her own son was still reverberating on her body, and she wasn't strong enough to cope with that.

"What happened just now?" Natasha asked as the sun flowed down through the living room window, with its fiery orange tones flooding in.

She would never disclose such a perversion, even to her best friend, and instead weaved little white lies and how she was going to see Dr. Sneider soon. She felt better after what sugary water, and let Natasha drove her to the stadium. Soon, the euphoria of the modest crowd made her forget about her worries, and the thick chants brought her to tears as Adam played on superstar level.

He knelt on the grass floor, celebrating, soon to be joined by multiple jocks just like him, testosterone running dangerously high and impregnating the field. The other mothers were all there, part of their own support group, in how to support their sons to achieve their dreams and ambitions. For Marge was a way to be with other mothers, and celebrate their sons more than anything else. She never seen Adam as a way out straight into celebrity status and a high luxury life.

Marge met with some other mothers, waiting for the men to finish showering. The conversation topics were initially all centered in Adam, and how well he played, but Marge made an effort to steer the conversation in other directions, as every time she talked about her son all she could think about was his penis drooling, and how that made her come so strong after so many years.

She thought about the locker rooms and the showers, and wondered if the other boys were as gifted as Adam. Again, her world spun around, as she fought, with an urge never seen before, the temptation her body was begging to have. Even in the middle of all these women, she could taste the fire burning in her legs, her lips swollen, engorged, soaking up the emotions from that morning.

"Marge?"

She woke up from her daydreaming, having Natasha looking back at her, and, at her side, Tony, her 21-year-old son, a gorgeous young man. In front of her, Adam, open arms and ready to greet his mother. It was all too much in one go, but she congratulated him, holding back as much as she could. The two boys were excited, talking fast, the adrenaline of the game flowing through their veins.

They all went to have dinner, gigantic steaks for the men, while the two mothers happily observed and chatted about that night's events. Marge drank a glass of red wine, feeling more at ease around her son, and as the hour went by, she ordered another one, feeling the light tipsiness she enjoyed so much.

Tony took a liking to her, complimenting Marge on her jeans and magnificent turquoise blouse, and she knew he also noticed her cleavage. It wasn't much, but that blouse was a favorite of her - simultaneously conservative and progressive enough, leaving a lot to the imagination, but giving just enough amount of teasing. She was happy to have changed from that white t-shirt.

She didn't wear it on purpose, but as the years went by after her traumatic divorce, she realized using sexy clothes was a way to lift her mood. Somehow, knowing she was desired had a positive impact on her.

"You are such a fucking slut," she could still hear her ex-husband say the first time she used that blouse, making Marge to stuff it in a drawer for three or four years, remorse eating her alive with each of his words. "A fucking whore."

As they got home, she could still taste Adam's happiness. He dropped his gym bag near the washing machine and put his equipment inside. He knew his mother would take care of the rest in the morning.

He gave his balls a big scratch by inserting his hand inside his tracksuits, unaware of his mother peripheral vision, and then went up to his room to change into his shorts to sleep, and threw a white t-shirt on top. Adam showed up in the kitchen, where Marge was still wearing her jeans and blouse, and he came to grab her from behind.

She was weightless in his arms.

"Did you enjoy the game?"

All her world was spinning around, the wine coming to her head, and a sense of void overcome her as he put her down. She sat in the high kitchen chair, facing her boy.

"It was a wonderful game. You all played so good. My voice is hoarse of all the shouting."

This put a smile on his face. Adam rubbed his large pecs, "I'm all sore, can't wait to get to bed."

"Yes, you got me worried when that other guy thrown you on the ground." She replayed the scene in her head, shivering. "You're not injured, are you?"

He shook his head, keeping his hand on his chest, massaging it. "They can't injure guys like me mom, told you that before."

"Well, he sure was big as hell. And -" Marge went silent, focusing on his son's side, as his t-shirt showed some skin as he played with its hem. "Is that a bruise? Oh my, let me have a look at it," and her hands were quick to grab hold of him. "This must hurt, no? Did you get this checked by the doctor?"

And Adam shivered as her hands touched his side. The soreness of the blow together with the softness of her fingertips made his head spin. She traced the marking of the bruise all the way to his hip, and Adam shuddered. That was too close. Too close. He couldn't help but his blood was already flowing fast, engorging his cock, trying to break free from the underwear.

He grabbed her hand, taking it from his body. "It hurts," he justified, but her eyes could see the head of his cock printed on the grey shorts he was wearing, engorging with each passing second.

She looked into his eyes again, and a flash of his fat cock that morning was all she could think about. Her cheeks went red, and suddenly, the kitchen was too hot.

"Right, I think I'd better go to bed. And so should you. Must be exhausted."

"I am, but..." he bit his lip, looking at her breasts. That blouse was imprinted in his imagination, an ample bosom, enough cleavage to keep him happy. Tony had told him how hot his mother was.

"But?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to talk some more."

His cock had stopped enlarging, and he was thankful for the pain on his left side, where that mountain of a man had hit against, and somehow was keeping his fast-shooter at bay.

Marge pressed her legs tight together, wishing her panties could soak up her mood without giving her away. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I have looked up a psychologist, Dr. Costas, that seems to be specialized in these sorts of things." She picked up her phone, "now, where did I put the number?"

"Uh... ok. Did you talked about this to anyone?"

Her eyes widened. "No, never, I'd never to that."

He pulled another high chair and finally sat down, facing his mother. For Adam, his mother would be immune to his own sexuality, as he knew very well she would never look at him in that way. She wasn't like Natasha - Tony's mother looked at him with eyes that could devour his body in one go, and he wished he could give her a long, hard, sexy fuck.

And, looking at mother, he wished somehow the same could be true. But thinking about her in that way caused his body to stir with the consequences of that. He still remembered how his father was such a fucking lunatic, and wished he could have stood up to him when he was younger, not only when he was already 19.

"I appreciate that. And I know yesterday was a tough conversation for you."

"It was more complex for a young man like you to admit to having a sexual problem." Her eyes were two pools of tranquility. She stood up in one go and looked at the wine cabinet. "Do you want to share a glass?" she asked, wanting to feel that edge again, something her ex-husband always denied to her.

"You know I can't drink, mother. Not legal age yet."

"I thought you were going to say because of your dedication to your coach," she laughed, the bottle opening, and the thick wine pouring. "I bet your ex was jealous of how much time you spent with him."

"What is this now? An interrogation?" his joyful tone filled the ivory kitchen with positive notes, as Marge told her son they'd be more comfortable in the living room, and he followed her, watching her sweet ass moving inside them jeans, enticing his cock to grow a little more, "please stay down, please, please stay down, she's your mother, for fuck's sake," he wished to himself, removing the words "pervert" that his father would have used.

It came to his mind the last time he saw him. A feeling he wanted to shove way back down, together with the fact he masturbated last night to the thought of his mother.

"What's on your mind?" she asked, sitting down on the couch, while Adam took a seat on the big comfortable chair, with massive thighs showing and making his mother sigh.

"Nothing. Just... just remembered dad, you know?"

Her face changed to a dark semblance, and she sipped her wine. "It's alright. I sure talked enough about him yesterday, didn't I?"

"You did. And I remember the good things about him, but can't avoid to be sad the way he left us."

She swirled the glass of wine in her hand, crossing her legs, and thinking back. "We were happy for a long time. But then... I don't know what happened. It was like swimming against a current. Eventually you drown."

Adam remained in silence. In his head, he couldn't shake the feeling it was more than that, but he never had the courage to bring that up. "I'm sorry if I made you guys break up in such a terrible way."

"Oh no, no, you didn't. Don't even think about that. There's no guilt from you there. It was just between your father and I but why are you even saying that?"

"Because of our fight." He had just gotten home that day, and saw his father shouting terrible words, his mother backed up to a corner in fear. Adam dropped his bags on the floor and pushed him away, his strength ten times stronger than his progenitor. He tried to use his usual intimidation tactics on Adam, but nothing worked. It didn't matter if while growing up the belt was used far too unkindly on him, but his emotional chains were broken, and he faced his dad like a man faces the end of his life. "I told him to go, and he did. He disappeared from our lives, and I can't help but think it was me."

She put the wineglass down and leaned forward, touching his leg above the knee. "Adam, you saved me that day. I... he thought I was having an affair. Called me a whore, for wearing clothes I shouldn't wear, not catholic enough for him. And... and you protected me. I never forgot that. He didn't leave us because of you, but because of his own insecurities."

And Marge wanted to make sure she raised Adam to be better than that. Her hand was cold, contrasting to the warmth of his body, his muscles still cooling down from the emotions of the game.

"In a way, I wished your father was more like you."

Adam took her hand and kept it between his.

Marge continued, "he was a sweet man in our earlier years. When you were born, oh, how fucking happy. It was complicated to adapt, sure with sleepless nights, but so worth it. And then... somehow, for whatever reason, your father changed. He thought you never did enough, while I tried to tell him how non important that was. How your happiness was superior to whatever thing he wanted you to become."

He hummed as she talked. Somehow, her ghosts were very real, and he still thought he caused all of that.

"But it was you that put me in football, wasn't it?"

"It was a way to keep you busy. To let you release steam. Your father wanted you to follow in his footsteps, but I saw in you a man who enjoys physical things rather than intellectual."

"You're saying I'm dumb?" he looked at her, a grin on his lips, a candour on his soul.

"No. You never liked books. You never enjoyed sitting down. And then I met Natasha, and you and Tony just got so inseparable. It was her idea too, the football thing. But I never thought you would pursue it so such great heights."

"I'm not a world-class player -"

"Nonsense. I'm not dumb too, you know?"

She removed her hand and grabbed the glass of wine again. Her veins were dilating, and it felt right to talk to him. "You maybe omit the fact that a big team wanted you, but Tony told me all about that."

"He did what?" Adam's voice came out strong, a thunder in the middle of the storm, a promise of heavy rain in a cold desert. "That mother-"

"Language." Her eyes were flaming arrows, ready to shoot. "I trust you as a man, Adam. And you are a grownup, able to make your own decisions, but I have to confess, it got me a little hurt."

His heart was heavy on his chest, weighing him down into an unknown darkness. "It's... shit, didn't mean to hurt you. Not after what dad did to you." He scratched his chest, making his mother look at him, his abs and ribs so tempting. "I got approached after a couple of games, yes." Adam stared at his lap, and his eyes traced the distance to his mother's hand, making him swallow the emptiness. "And we're amateur at best mom, it's great to have the attention, but I don't play for money and glory. I still want to finish my degree because I am not that dumb." He looked back at his mom, that blouse making him sweat, her long legs in heels. Such a dark temptation.

"I think you're afraid of leaving Tony behind."

He thought on her words for a few seconds, "you're right as well. But I never told Tony that part. I never disclosed I asked to take him with me. How did you know?"

"You think you're like your father, but you're not. He would never look back twice, while you are more interested in being happy than being successful. And that says a lot about you."

He moved uncomfortably in his chair. "It says a lot of bad things about me, that's for sure when you put it that way."

"No, it doesn't." She drank the rest of her glass, putting it down. "It shows commitment. If you don't look for your happiness, no one will. And that's why, despite all we went through with that man in our later years, you were able to keep this family afloat. If it wasn't for you, I don't know how I'd survive."

"Mom, don't say that. If it wasn't for you. You are the best mother in the world."

She smiled, thinking back on all the things she didn't do because of her husband. "Ah, we complicate our own lives. If you want an old woman's advice, don't be afraid to chase the things you want, even if they are out of reach."

"I hear you. I agree, except for the old woman part."

"Oh please," she said, smiling, enjoying the compliment.

Adam thought about how it would taste like to kiss her lips. He shook his head, trying to get rid of that risky thought, but again, her lips were so beautiful. "Tony keeps talking about you, mom. You're a heartbreaker. You saw how he was trying to flirt with you tonight."

"Adam! I'm the one drinking wine, but you're the one out of your head. Please, Tony is old enough to be my son."

"So? My point exactly mom. You're still hot as fuck and actually Tony can't shut up about how you look gorgeous in those jeans."

"Oh my lord, we are so not having this conversation right now. I'm gonna tell Natasha to slap his ass in punishment."

This made Adam laugh loudly, sending his head back into the chair with tears in his eyes. "That is funny, just trying to picture him over Natasha's knee, pants down, his ass red from her hand. Bad boy he is."

"If they could hear us, oh my, could never show my face around anymore. But now that you mention that about Tony, I noticed you leaning towards Natasha. You stared at her legs far too long."

He went slightly red in the face. "Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Was it that obvious?"

"Not as obvious as when you stared at her breasts. But we talked about these things before, me, Natasha and the other moms. You are so young, but already so manly, the peak of your form at 20 years old. Must be crazy how hormones make your bodies change so quickly."

Adam shifts slightly uncomfortably, groping his flaccid long cock. "So you take that as a compliment?"

"God, no. We're not that easy to buy. You can be pretty, but it takes much more than that to conquer a woman, especially at our age."

Adam's abs were hurting from laughing, and he was imagining all these women, old enough to be his mother, discussing him and his friends. If not for his problem of cumming too fast, he'd fuck them all.