Alarm Clock Ch. 04

I woke in the same position. Often, on Thursday night, what she had done left me so exhausted I slept through the night without moving. Her tit was right there so I moved a tiny bit and took her nipple into my mouth. Her warm sweet milk energized me.

As I nursed I brushed my fingertips along the tops of her inner thighs. She parted her legs unconsciously, as she often did. I lightly traced the delta of the mat of her thick, coarse pubic hair.

Her milk calmed me as I suckled. And her body started to respond as my finger traced lower, lightly touching the hard button of her clitoris. I felt her awaken, the subtle changing in her breathing, a new tension in her body.

Her hand stroked my hair and she murmured, "what a good boy."

I suckled and slowly masturbated her. Her hand came down and found me, hard.

Our mutual masturbation lingered long enough that after she had cum, filling my hand with her warm sticky nectar, and I had ejaculated, semen smearing her hand and forearm, and hip, I needed to hurry to make my first class.

We hurried through the shower and I settled for two breakfast burritos snagged from the McDonald's drive-through on my way to class. Friday was a teaching day and once again I vowed to kill my professor who had scheduled those 9:00 classes. But I got through them, carefully protecting my sore ass as well as I could.

My economics class at 2:00 was interesting as we worked the formulas on an eXcel spreadsheet. It turned out, the government was broke but that was hardly a surprise.

Friday night was our night at the Mommy and Me club. She had my short pants, striped T-shirt, white socks, and Buster Brown saddle oxfords laid out.

As I was dressing she asked, "how would you feel about your mom wearing the same thing two nights in a row?"

I thought of her yellow Donna Reed dress and said, "oh goodness, yes."

She drove, of course, and at Mommy and Me, a club she had found that catered to mothers and sons, she ordered me the Chicken Strips and a Virgin Cuba Libre'. She got a Ribeye with a stuffed twice-baked potato, and a pitcher of beer. As we ate I snuck drinks from her beer.

At 8:00 the lights dimmed and the music started. Friday was live music night and tonight was a Beatles cover band.

One of the couples we knew pretty well walked over to the table.

"May I have this dance," Greg asked mom. He and I had been friends since mom found this place, and tonight his mom had dressed him in a suit. The pants were too short as were the sleeves, giving the impression he was going through a growth spurt.

"I'd be honored, sir," mom said, smiling and standing.

I stood too.

Greg's mom, Stephanie I knew although she was always Mrs. Durham to me, was waiting expectantly. She's a well-padded redhead and I always liked dancing with her. She's short and round and fits nicely in my arms. We danced through "And I Love Her" in the classic slow dance position, her right hand in my slightly extended left, my right hand on her hip, and her left hand on my shoulder. When the band shifted immediately into "I Want to Hold Your Hand" I spun her into a passable jive dance.

The evening went like that. Mom and I danced together. Throughout the evening she danced with Tommy, Freddy, and Jamie while I danced with their moms. Well, in Jamie's case I danced with his grandmother, one of those women who lose every fat cell after menopause. She was nothing but skin, bones, and sinew. She asked if I would be interested in being her pool boy in the summer since Jamie was going to be spending the summer with his dad. I told her she'd have to check with mom.

I was pretty drunk by the time they dimmed the lights and called out "last call for alcohol." Mom was too since she asked me to drive.

I was being VERY careful, staying on the back streets, making the normally 20-minute drive extend to almost 45 minutes. Eventually, we made it home, and I was so nervous my hands were shaking.

I got out of the car and ran around to open the door for her.

That's when I realized how completely smashed she was.

She staggered and would have fallen if I hadn't caught her. She giggled, hanging onto my arm, making me carry a good bit of her weight as we headed for the door. She went quiet and stopped, making me stumble. As I watched her eyes got big, she opened her mouth, and threw up.

As a demonstration of projectile vomiting, it was pretty spectacular. I jumped back but still got some on my shoes and socks and felt a spatter of wetness on my shins.

"Oh God," she moaned and the next wave bent her over. I had an almost hysterical urge to giggle when the phrase "puke on your shoes drunk" flashed through my mind.

She did exactly that.

As I watched she sort of crumpled. It was almost like watching a marionette's strings being cut one by one. She heaved again and dropped to her knees, this time leaving a string of thick mucus and drool hanging from her chin.

She heaved again, making a loud, almost barking sound, and leaned over, on all fours now, her back arching as she retched, almost dry heaves now. Almost but not quite. Thick mucus-laden drool hung in ropes from her mouth and clear snot puddled below her nose.

Another spasm and the smell told me she had lost bowel and bladder control.

"Oh God," she moaned, head hanging, hair wet with puke and drool.

Since the worst of it was passed I knelt beside her, rubbing her back gently.

"Can you stand?" I asked.

"Not yet," she said as another round of retching took her, accompanied by a long, sonorous, bubbly fart.

So I rubbed her back some more while she visibly calmed down.

Finally, she took a deep breath and said, "help me."

We got her on her feet and walked her into the house. I was pretty drunk myself and it took three tries to get the key in the lock but I managed it.

"Mom, wait," I said.

"What?" she asked, swaying.

Then I did get the giggles.

"You're a mess, let me get your panties off and throw them away," I said, getting to my knees and then reaching under the skirt of her Donna Reed dress.

"Oh, God," she sort of moaned.

I was reaching under, feeling, seeking the waistband of her panties. My hand was wet almost immediately. Christ, she had really let go. I found the panty's waistband and started pulling them down. They were sodden and heavy. She smeared shit and piss on her ankles and shoes when she stepped out of them.

"Wait," I said, and then ran to the trash can, threw the mess away, and ran back. She was swaying but still upright.

Upstairs, in our bedroom, I started undressing her. She was still VERY unsteady, swaying and needing to take a step to keep her balance. I got the dress, the petticoat, her shoes, nylons, and bra off, but the girdle was so damn shit smeared I didn't want to touch it. I said, "wait" again and ran the clothes down to the laundry room. The smell was pretty rough and I didn't want it lingering in the bedroom when I tried to sleep.

Back in the bedroom, she had sat on the edge of the bed, making a fresh mess there. I rolled my eyes, pulled her to her feet, and walked her into the shower.

As soon as the water had warmed enough that I didn't figure it would give her a heart attack I pushed her into the shower, followed her, and started hosing her down with the handheld showerhead. I was still drunk myself and got a truly epic case of the giggles when I heard a distinct "plop" and part of the mess in her girdle hit the shower floor.

I had second thoughts about the advisability of putting her into the shower before getting the damn girdle off as I started struggling with it. Christ. Wet, it was goddam near impossible to get moving. I was panting before I had it past her ass. But eventually, I got it off.

I wasn't terribly interested in anything but cleaning up the damn mess. But as I washed her face and then shampooed her hair, well, nature sort of took over.

I dried her, walked her into the bedroom, well, staggered her into the bedroom, looked at the mess where she had sat on the edge of the bed, thought about having her sit while I changed the sheets, then thought "fuck it," and helped her into bed.

I crawled into bed beside her, erect now and wanting her.

But she had passed out.

As I watched she blew a big snot bubble that popped and spattered over her face.

It was fun, in a necrophiliac way. For the next hour or so I played with her body, posing her, touching and pinching, and playing with parts. I tugged at her nipples until her milk flowed and then just watched as I played with her clitoris.

I finished by climbing up so I sat on her ribs, held her tits together using my thumb and forefinger on her nipples, and titty fucked her. When I came, the thick jet of my semen spattered to her forehead, leaving a thick line that ran into her eyes and smeared her nose and lips.

Finished, I went to sleep nursing.

Her snoring woke me at 3:43 according to the clock on the headboard.

She was still a mess and now her mouth was wide open, her snoring loud, and her nose was running, adding to the mess on her face.

I went into the bathroom and peed. When I got back to the bed I fucked her. This wasn't making love, it was pure fucking.

And it was fun in a necrophiliac way.

I latched on again and this time slept through the night.