Mama's Special Boy

It's been a hard 18 years raising my son. I didn't realise anything was off until he was around 4. 'Speech can develop late,' they always told me. 'Don't worry, he'll soon come at it.' It never did, I've scoffed at every doctor, psychologist and paediatrician who has told me that it might still come. I accepted long ago that my son was non-verbal, and we deal with it in our own way.

Michael was only 1 when his father left us. 'Too much to deal with,' he said. Huh, no shit. I've stuck with my son through thick and thin, and despite his inability to communicate verbally with me, he communicates in plenty of other ways. His social skills leave much to be desired, he loathes having to spend time with other children or boys his age and he isn't fond of most adults. The list of diagnoses have piled high which have certainly given some explanation for his behaviours - but luckily his mental faculty is fairly functional. He understands much about the world around him, is incredibly intelligent and has a variety of special interests. Despite having turned 18 years old 3 months ago, my young man's mental age is stuck somewhere in boyhood for lots of things. This now 6ft tall man towers above my mere 5ft, good thing he's a real Mama's boy.

I'll admit I may have made some mistakes raising Michael, I certainly haven't done it the conventional way and much of what I have done would certainly cause some outrage. However, if you had a boy like my Michael, I'm sure you would understand that the things I've done, I've done out of unconditional and completely devoted love. Which you may not see my way, but things could have been a whole lot worse for us.

I'm lucky enough to receive substantial maintenance money for both my son and myself from my absent (now ex) husband. This means we can afford to live a comfortable lifestyle, in a comfortable neighbourhood, in a comfortable house with comfortable things. I do work on the side to earn some extra cash - I write from home. This is the only thing I have found that suits my few talents and allows me to be present enough to have cared for my son the way he needs.

Michael is functional enough to wash himself, dress, and keep himself occupied. But that's about it. I have tried developing plenty of other skills with him over the years; cooking, cleaning, gardening... the list goes on. He doesn't have the attention span to focus on something he isn't intently interested in, instead he chooses to spend his time watching television - documentaries in particular, painting with paint by number sets and building with lego. My Michael is a fabulous lego builder. His room is filled with small and medium models he has constructed and the re-furbished basement is filled with the larger pieces he has completed and is working on.

So my full time job - probably for the rest of my life, will be to care for Michael. In the little contact I have had with him since he left, his father has assured me he will ensure Michael is well cared for in the future should anything ever happen to me. He didn't need to tell me that it wouldn't be him caring for him. But my mind is a little at ease none the less knowing that my darling will be looked after by someone who's qualified to do so.

At a mere 36, I'm aware I'm a young mother, having had Michael at 18 myself. When we're out, people often assume that Michael is my brother or sometimes my boyfriend. I'm lucky enough to say that my youthful appearance certainly helps matters there - my long strawberry blonde hair reaches just below my breasts, but I keep it tucked up in a pony tail for practicality. My petite body is accentuated only by my shapely breasts and hips, and I do try to dress in a way that flatters my figure. So I mostly stick to sundresses and flats.

I realise I'm staring out of the kitchen window, mulling over my life and my son with my morning coffee when Michael taps me on the shoulder. I turn to look at him, he stands and stares solemnly at me in his pyjamas, his strawberry blonde hair slightly fluffy from his night's sleep. His green eyes still hazed and conveying he's very tired. Michael is licking his lips as he tugs at my arm angling towards the couch. I exhale and smile gently at him before putting my cup down on the counter and allowing myself to be guided to the sofa.

I sit on the far end and place a pillow in my lap, while I prop my feet up on a chunky footstool, Michael immediately lays down on the couch, his head in my lap and his feet dangling off the end. He raises his arm and tugs at the top of my sleep tank top. I let him pull it down enough to release my left breast. He immediately latches on and begins suckling to get his breakfast.

I know I know, what am I doing still breastfeeding my 18 year old son? It always settled him very quickly when he was small and it continued to do so as I realised he was not like most other boys in this town. In all honestly, his suckling brought me comfort too - I liked having him close and being able to provide both food and comfort to him. So I never stopped. I tried a few times of course, when the feeling of what I should be doing for the good of my son took over and I was self-shamed into attempting to wean him off of my milk. The meltdowns that he had were catastrophic and left his room and his beloved ego in ruins. I tried when he was 4, again at 7 and also at 9 - after the third attempt I decided not to put either of us through the emotional strain and just accept that this worked for us. So between 4 and 6 times a day, Michael is fed from my still healthy milk supply, which I can certainly say I owe my shapely breasts to.

I cradle his head, stroking his hair and his tummy as he suckles from me, his sleepy eyes falling shut while he drinks his fill and hums in pleasure. I look down the couch and across his body and notice the bulge in his pyjama bottoms. This has been something new that has been happening over the past few weeks - every time Michael feeds, he gets an erection. I suppose now that he is older, it's only natural that this starts happening, but I certainly don't think that he has any perception of what sexual feelings are. He has been mostly ignoring it, I've spotted him rubbing a hand over it every now and then, but he doesn't seek any further stimulation.

It seems that that has come to an end. I watch as Michael reaches a hand down and rubs at the bulge, not being aware of his actions so much as just enjoying the feeling that comes from them, I think. The hum from his throat reverberates through my chest as he draws harder on my breast. I think that's all he will do, so I relax back a little more in my seat with my eyes closed to give him some privacy as he continues drawing milk. Eventually, I hear and feel a grunt against my breast and some shuffling. I open my eyes to see that Michael has pushed down his bottoms enough to free his cock and fist it. My mouth falls open as I watch him start moving his fist up and down his length, the tip of his cock glistening with pre-cum already. He tugs at my top to get my other breast free where he continues to work to drain me of milk.

'Michael sweetie, now is not the time to be doing that.' I chastise him gently. He grunts and bites down a little as he suckles from me. 'Ouch, be gentle darling!' He continues to pull on my nipple with long, deep draws as he fondles himself. Just as I reach down to guide his hand away from the quick pumps of his fist around his cock, he grunts, his hips jerk and he sprays long, thick ropes of cum up onto his stomach, which is still covered by his t-shirt. By default, my arm gets splattered too since it was in the line of fire. He pumps his fist for a few more strokes as he jerks with the after shocks and then he is still, suckling on my breast as if this never happened. Not once does he open his eyes to look at me, not once does he move to clean the mess he has made and not once did he break from suckling at me.

I stare in mute confusion and slight horror at what has just happened. I've seen Michael's cock plenty of times before, I've even seen it hard sometimes in the morning when I usher him into the shower to get ready for the day. But I've never seen him touch himself in such a way, and I certainly don't think he's ever had an orgasm before now. I wonder where on Earth he has learned to do that - certainly not from the TV or internet, all of his devices are locked with parental permissions on them, and it's been a long time since I myself have looked at porn. Unless he has been experimenting in bed at night without me knowing.

Yes I know, another thing. We still sleep in the same bed too. Michael suckles before bed and I got fed up of having to detach myself and climb out of bed while trying to avoid waking him. That has also been the result of a few temper tantrums when he has awoken to find himself alone in bed. So we sleep in the master bedroom in the house, and his bedroom is more of a den/play area for him, which works for us just fine. I enjoy having the warmth and comfort of another body in bed next to me, even if it is my son, and it's only fair that my growing boy gets a good night's sleep.

Michael eventually stops suckling as he drifts off into a light sleep with my nipple still in his mouth as he normally does after his morning feed. I stare at his now softening penis, laying across his lower abdomen. Then I stare at the thick ropes of cum splattering both him and me, breathing in the pheromones that have accompanied his lust and subsequent explosion. Between the stimulation that the feeding has created in my breasts and the immediate recollection of Michael's thrusting hips and grunts; I feel a tingle between my legs. I shove it away as quickly as it appears, not even entertaining letting the idea take shape.

__

Throughout the rest of the day, Michael wants to feed more than normal. Each time he is at my breast, he gets hard and fondles at himself. I'm assuming this will be a new novelty for him, so I have been letting him jerk himself off without admonishing him. I remember being a teenager and finding new things to rub up against to satisfy the urges I had. I can hardly deny him the same and I don't like the idea of my boy living in frustration, especially since it will be particularly hard for him to ever have a fulfilling romantic relationship. By the end of the day, I have been sure to place a pack of wet wipes beside our usual feeding spots to allow for quick and easy clean up after he's done.

The first few times, he hardly lasts 15 seconds, the new sensations too powerful and overwhelming. But by the time we reach his 6th feeding at tea time, his fist pumps for a good few minutes before he releases the torrent of cum. His soft moans as he continues to suckle has me smiling indulgently down at him.

By bed time, I can tell he is more tired than usual, having spent his energy on his new found obsession. As we curl up in bed he is restless and unsettled, he huffs as he tries to get comfortable before he latches on. His pulls at my breast are uneven and inconsistent, he cries out as he tries to jerk himself off again. He obviously wants the pleasure, but his penis looks red and angry, obviously not pleased with being so over-used today. I coo at Michael to get him to settle, hushing him against my breast, but he tries and tries again to touch himself.

'Sweetheart, you're going to hurt yourself. You need to give it a rest so you can recover.' I chide him softly. He grunts unhappily and just continues to try and stimulate himself. I sigh and reach over to the bedside cabinet where I bring out some massage oil. I pour some into my hand, intending to transfer it to Michael's hand. Instead, I find myself reaching for his cock to spread it out there to save some of the mess. I fully intend to take my hand away again to let Michael take over. But the long groan Michael lets out as I spread the oil gives me tingles. I take a little longer than necessary spreading it out as his hips buck into me at the feeling of a hand that is not his own. As I finally find it in me to draw my hand away, Michael's brow creases and I find myself wanting to keep my boy happy. I'm too tired to fight this tonight, my nipples are over-sensitive and I've been worried about the intensity of Michael's newest development all day and I would just really like to go to sleep. This is not that much different than breast feeding, I reason. This is just something else I can do to comfort my boy.

Michael squirms restlessly until my hand returns to his cock. As I draw my hand up and down his long cock he makes sounds I've never heard from him before; desperate pleading sounds as he moans. I begin to stroke him quickly, making my fist squeeze and twist slightly at the tip of his cock to stimulate all the nerve endings. Michael cries out and I repeat the movement again and again. It's barely a minute before Michael's hips are thrusting up into my hand frantically and his moans around my nipple are getting longer and more guttural.

I stare transfixed at my hand moving on him, at his mouth latched onto my breast, at his blissfully strained expression as I give him the pleasure he was so desperate for. Another minute and Michael grunts long and low. His cock jerks, pulses and settles into a steady throb as it ejects his semen so forcefully out of the tip that it sprays all the way up his body and as far as his throat. I stroke gently until he trembles and he starts to sound like he's sobbing from the pleasure. I slowly come to a stop.

Michael continues feeding until he falls asleep.

__

A few weeks pass and this routine continues. Breastfeeding, jerking Michael off, cuddling. This is our new normal. I've begun to take responsibility for stroking him to climax, I'm a little embarrassed to say I've been enjoying it. I bought him a fleshlight off the internet because I thought it might quell some of the urges and give my wrist a rest, but from what I can tell he hasn't looked near it even though I showed him how to use it. He seems to prefer his Mama's help.

I've found myself needing to get off more too, which is no mean feat when you have an energetic, horny, 6ft tall 18 year old who is still breastfeeding and who is pleasure seeker and enjoys being attached to you 24/7. I finally think I've snagged my moment this morning in the shower. I leave Michael watching TV after his breakfast and I get my suction cup dildo and bring it into the shower; I'm never alone for long so I know I'll have to be quick. I jam it onto the wet wall and back myself onto it, the tip lodging in my tight, already wet pussy. I start thrusting back onto it furiously as my hand goes to my clit, the water from the shower head powering over me, adding some extra sensation on my already tender nipples. I rub furious circles and work myself up until my body is wound so tight I know that a few more thrusts and a few more circles of my clit will push me over the edge.

I cum with a muffled moan, thrusting gently back onto the dildo before coming to a stop. I rest for a few seconds before I open my eyes. I start when I see Michael standing in the doorway of the bathroom staring at me wide-eyed. I don't dare move as he saunters over for a closer look.

He approaches the shower stall and opens the door. He bends to look at where my ass is pressed against the wall and before I can warn him off he pulls my upper arm forward so I slide up the length of the dildo. He inspects where I'm joined to it thoroughly before pushing me back against the wall. He repeats the process a few times and I mash my lips together to keep from making a sound he eventually pulls me all the way off the dildo. He inspects it before taking his own penis out to compare. I see the brief look of confusion on his face before it clears once he sees that they are the same roughly the shape and that they both have balls at the bottom of the shaft.

He turns his attention back to me and roughly pushes me over to bend at the waist before he crouches behind me to inspect where the dildo went. I can't help but think, shit, I've just unintentionally shown him where his cock can go. He pokes and prods around my asshole for a minute before he moves down to my slit and pokes around. For some odd reason I can't put my finger on, I don't tell him to stop or to remove his hands. I rationalise that he's just curious - my bits are different from his and he's just trying to understand. He promptly leaves the bathroom after a short exploration. I let out the breath I've been holding for the past few minutes. I leave the shower without removing the dildo.

__

Days pass, and I assume Michael has forgotten all about the shower incident. He doesn't try and inspect me again, so I assume I'm safe from further developments. We work our way through our days of feeding and getting Michael off among our other daily tasks.

It isn't until nearly a week later that I wake up in the morning to the bed jostling. I feel a pressure on my back and something damp at my backside. It takes me a moment to come to, but once I do, I realise that Michael has jammed his dick between my ample ass cheeks and is thrusting upwards. If I move this could be a catastrophic mistake, no way do I want his cock to power up my ass. I hold as still as possible as I endure him thrusting, grunting and groaning behind me; it's only the sensation, I tell myself. Minutes later he whines as he shoots his load up my lower back and between my ass cheeks. Unashamed, he rolls me onto my back, tugs my tank top down and begins to feed himself. I lay with my eyes closed, ignoring my dampening pussy and try not to think of what could have happened as he drinks his fill.

This happens a few more times over the next week. I wake up to Michael thrusting between my ass cheeks and even a few times through my thighs. By this point, I feel like I'm constantly covered in cum and having to change the sheets nearly every morning. But it's harmless really isn't it - he doesn't know how to control the urges. He doesn't know that it's inappropriate to be doing this with his Mama. All he knows is that the friction feels nice and it makes something that feels even nicer happen after a while and that Mama will clean him up. By now our feeding stations are set up with wet wipes, massage oil and hand towels. I can't help but smile down indulgently at my lovely son now every time I massage him while he's feeding, the blissful look of pleasure and completion makes me feel like I've satisfied him for a while and he won't be in distress.

His awareness of personal space has always been poor, but now it's absolutely terrible. He has begun approaching me and standing very close at odd times, breathing down my neck with his erection pressing up against my side or lower back. It doesn't make me uncomfortable, but I've started to realise it's usually when he has urges. I've been quick off the mark to usher him to the couch or to the bed to see to him. But eventually the day comes where I'm occupied with my hands in the sink, covered in dish soap, washing some dishes.

Michael comes to stand directly behind me, his erection laying heavily at my lower back. 'Baby, Mama is busy right now. I can feed you in 5 minutes once I'm done.' He grunts unhappily but doesn't move an inch. 'Baby, I said in 5 minutes. You need to be patient.' I think he understands because he backs off for a second. I hear shuffling and think nothing of it. A few seconds later Michael's hand on my upper back pushes me forward to bend at the middle. My hands go straight to the bottom our of deep sink as I try to steady myself. My sundress is flipped up, my panties yanked down and Michael's cock thrusts between my closed thighs.

'Michael! What are you...' Michael starts to thrust. Really thrust. I try to straighten but he pushes me back down further, my face a mere half inch away from the dishwater in the sink. His rock hard cock powers between my upper thighs, his pre-cum smears between my thighs, there's enough of it to provide enough lubrication that his cock slips easily through. The angle he has means that every time he thrusts through, the tip of his cock grazes my clit and I realise just how easy it would be for his cock to slip right inside my pussy from this angle if I widened my stance even a fraction. I gasp at the slight contact, but it doesn't slow him down. He bumps it again, and again, and again. I'm worried that one of the neighbours will see if they walk past our kitchen window - we're not too far from the sidewalk. From their view it will look like Michael is fucking me over the sink, what a show that would be for old Mr Jenkins next door. I suppose Michael is sort of fucking me over the sink, but not really. He's just using me for friction, isn't he?