No Monkey Business: Week 02

The bench really wasn't big enough for this, but mom didn't seem to care about that. Her long skirt limited the movement of her legs, so she let go of me for a moment to pull it up into a bunch around her waist. That done she was able to wrap her arms back around my neck and her legs around my waist and pull me against her.

We settled into a roughly missionary position, mom with her limbs wrapped around me, and me with one leg on the bench and one on the floor. It was awkward and not particularly comfortable, but it left my jeans covered crotch roughly level with mom's naked pussy, which seemed to be her main criterion for success at that moment.

"Oh, god. Please, Steven" she whimpered, moving one of her arms around and sliding her palm down my front until her hand dipped inside the waistband of my boxers, moving down until she grasped my cock.

My cock was, predictably for those keeping track, not very hard at all. It had been less than an hour since I'd last pumped mom full of my cum. And that had been my second big orgasm of the day. My eighteen year old cock had some impressive stamina, if I do say so myself. But there were limits.

I don't doubt that mom could have gotten me hard, she had certainly demonstrated a knack for it. Could she have made me cum there on that cold, uncomfortable bench? I don't doubt that either. Could she have done it quickly? That there was the problem. Even mom would have struggled to draw any more cum from me in the immediate future.

I was just about to slide down on the bench and go to town on mom's pussy with my tongue (which had no problem staying hard), when a banshee screamed in the night.

No, wait, it was the gate.

Mom and I both froze, our limbs tangled around each other's bodies and inside each other's clothes. But we recovered fast, and untangled the knot we'd become with the kind of speed that would make Alexander the Great blush.

We hopped off the bench - or rather mom hopped off the bench and I kind of half stumbled, half fell off the bench. And then we stood there, striving to look innocent. Which was a waste of effort because there was absolutely no one to be seen.

"God dammit," muttered mom with a scowl. I thought for a moment she was going to shove me back on the bench and pick up where she'd left off, but we both knew that noise had to come from somewhere. So, instead, she grabbed my hand and started dragging me across the park, back towards the exit.

As we neared the demonic gate we came across the source of the noise. Another dog walker had come in while we'd been on the bench, though this one seemed happy waiting near the park's exit until her dog had finished its evening toilet-related business. The dog owner seemed slightly startled as mom and I came charging hand-in-hand out of the darkness.

"Evening," I said in what I hoped was a friendly tone as we sped past. Mom was giving the dog owner dirty looks, while the dog owner merely looked a bit confused.

"Uh, hi. Evening," she managed to say before we were past her. I was delighted to see that she had propped the gate open so not only could we avoid opening it, we didn't have to hear it shut either. That was a win in my book. Mom still looked sub-impressed with life in general.

In fact mom kept up her fast pace and silent demeanor all the way to the pizza place. Even the discovery that our pizza was ready and waiting when we arrived didn't seem to cheer her. Fortunately Giuseppe the owner loved two things: making pizza and flirting with customers. And he only hated one thing: people leaving his store in a bad mood.

I'm exaggerating obviously. Giuseppe no doubt has a rich and fulfilling personal life and has many loves and hates, just like the rest of us. But, for the purpose of a pithy narrative, let's make him a bit more one-dimensional.

Suffice to say that the grey cloud hovering over mom was not lost on Giuseppe. He vaguely recognized us as occasional customers and so turned on the old Italian charm as we paid for our order. Five minutes later and both thoroughly flirted with, mom and I left the pizza place with pizza and smiles to go.

The walk home was not quite as speedy as the walk from the park had been, but between the cool night air and the promise of pizza, we were both eager to get back inside. I initiated a bit of small talk, mostly just amused observations about Giuseppe, and mom responded, warming to the subject as we chatted. By the time we were back in our kitchen and placing obscene amounts of pizza on our plates mom seemed to have gotten over her disappointment and frustration from the park. We ate the pizza at the kitchen table, chatting about this and that long after the last slice had vanished.

"...so then I phoned Giuseppe and he just tells me to keep the pizzas. But I say 'What am I supposed to do with six twenty-four-inch pizzas?' And he says... he says..."

"What did he say?" prompted mom as my story faltered somewhat.

"He said: 'Eat them.'" I finished, frowning slightly. "Huh, I thought that story had a punchline. Sorry, mom."

Mom just shook her head, no doubt despairing at the comic genius that she had failed to raise. She opened her mouth to say something that I assume would have been intelligent, amusing, and cutting all at once. But all that was lost as she instead yawned with gusto.

That set me off, and I looked at the clock on the wall as I yawned, surprised at how late it was. "Wow, bed time, I think," I said, suddenly feeling tired. I hadn't been a moment earlier, but like cartoon gravity, now my body knew how late it was it had decided to react accordingly.

"Yep," said mom, getting to her feet. "After we wash up."

I gave a little groan, but it was half hearted. After we put the remaining slices of pizza in the fridge there was almost no washing up to do and it was done before I could muster the energy to complain about it.

That done we trudged up the stairs. "Night, mom," I said as I reached the summit.

"Good night, sweetheart," she said, giving me a lingering kiss on the cheek.

With that we headed our separate ways. Mom to her bedroom, me to the bathroom and from there to the warm comfort of my bed.

---

"What seems to be the problem?" asked the man in the computer store.

"It's the motherboard," I said, gesturing vaguely at my computer. "I think it needs replacing."

"That much is obvious," he said, nodding in a knowing kind of way. He walked over to the side of the store where the wall was covered with labeled plastic drawers. "What kind of computer is it?" he asked, placing his hand on a drawer labeled "Not a PC".

"Uh, I think it's a PC," I said.

"I thought so," he said, moving to the neighboring drawer labeled "PC". He pulled it open and took out a small green circuit board, then came back over and handed it to me.

"Thanks. How do I install it?" I asked, being something of a novice when it comes to computers.

His response was simply to sigh then press the eject button of my computer's CD drive. Once the tray had slid out he gestured to it.

I popped the circuit board onto the tray then pushed it shut again. My computer started making deeply unimpressed noises.

"It'll take a minute to install," said the salesman over the noise. "It's got to find a chauffeur."

"You mean a driver, right?" I asked. But the salesman had pulled out a heavy looking tablecloth and was throwing it over the table in front of me. I looked around at the restaurant I was in. A gorilla stared back from the table next to me. I tried to remember if you were supposed to climb trees or pretend to be dead if a gorilla attacked you. Or was that pandas?

My musings were interrupted by the waiter pulling the tablecloth off the table and onto my lap.

"Steven," he said in a soft voice that most certainly didn't belong to him. He then started dragging the table cloth across my lap.

"Wha?" I asked, my brain scrambling to keep up with events.

I opened my eyes, my vision almost as bleary as my thoughts. I was in bed, my room dimly lit by the small lamp on my desk. The duvet I'd been lying under was being dragged off me by my mom, who was stood by my bed in just her pyjama top.

"Oh you're awake," she said quietly. "That's lucky."

"Mom?" I said groggily. "What time is it?"

Mom seemed to ignore my question and instead yanked my boxer shorts down my legs and tossed them aside. Then she looked back at me. "It's I'm-unbelievably-horny-so-shut-up-and-give-me-your-cock," she said. Then added: "O'clock."

I had just enough time to focus on the clock by my bed and see that this translated to about 2:30am before mom clambered onto the bed, dropping her noticeably wet pussy onto my noticeably soft cock.

"C'mon," she muttered either to herself or to my cock. Whoever it was she was speaking to, they didn't have a chance to respond before she started sliding her hips rapidly back and forth, rubbing her pussy over the currently unimpressive length of my cock.

I may have been half asleep but my cock seemed to be half awake, and slowly started to stiffen under mom's assault. As far as mom was concerned the operative word was 'slowly'. Losing patience, she maneuvered herself around on the bed until she was kneeling with her pussy hovering above my head and her head hovering above my cock. I'd seen enough porn to know where this was going, and, sure enough, before I could say 'what's twenty-three times three?' mom dropped her pussy down onto my face and, simultaneously, engulfed my cock in her mouth.

I started lapping at mom's pussy, savoring the taste of her juices, before I encircled her clit with my lips and started teasing it with the tip of my tongue.

Mom's approach was less teasing and more like full on harassment. She didn't move her head at all initially, simply holding my whole cock in her mouth and sucking it furiously as her tongue slipped and slid around it. As my cock grew she started to bob her head, starting fast and only getting faster.

I tried to reciprocate as best I could but mom's assault on my cock was seriously distracting me from my own oral efforts. In the time it took mom to bring my cock to something resembling a proper erection I'd barely managed a few licks of her clit. I redoubled my efforts, trying to recapture the skills I'd shown in the shed on Saturday evening.

My efforts were almost certainly in vain. Mom wasn't kidding about being horny already, and seemed almost oblivious to my oral ministrations. She was far too focused on my cock, which within a couple of minutes she had brought to full attention.

After bobbing up and down along its length for another minute or so, mom released my cock from her mouth and started stroking it rapidly with her hand. "Close?" she asked, as if she was asking my cock directly.

I was fully hard, that was true, but saying I was close to cumming would be pushing it. It still hadn't been that long since our previous session after all. "I'm getting there," I responded, figuring that had the benefit of being true.

Mom carried on stroking for a few seconds then seemed to give a little shrug - though it was hard to tell what her shoulders were doing with my face buried between her legs. "Close enough," she said, and crawled down the bed, removing her pussy from my face.

I only had a moment to interpret what that comment meant, for then mom span around on the bed so that she was facing me whilst knelt over my stiff cock. With practiced ease she grabbed it and lined it up, before sinking her waiting pussy onto it.

We both groaned as she made first contact. Her groan deepened into a husky growl of pleasure as she pushed her weight down in order to force my cock up and inside her. My groan evolved slightly differently, becoming a pained grunt. Wet or not, mom was incredibly tight inside and her pussy squeezed hard enough around me to cause some discomfort.

Either she was oblivious to my response or she chose to ignore it - which was fair given my occasionally blasé approach to mom's comfort. It didn't really matter; mom lifted and sank back down her hips a few times, building a rhythm, and as she did so her pussy clearly got used to its intruder and relaxed in order to accommodate me. Soon only an ever building feeling of pleasure was emanating from my cock.

"Yes," mom hissed, riding me more vigorously with every thrust. She put her hands on my torso - using me for leverage as she humped, and pressing me down into the bed. She had her eyes closed, a look somewhere between intense pleasure and intense determination on her face. I felt like an oversized sex toy as I lay there with my hands on her knees, not that I was complaining.

"Oh God, mom," I murmured, "that feels so mpff."

I hadn't meant to say mpff of course, which I don't think is even a real word. No, that's just the noise that I managed to make with one of mom's hands clamped over my mouth.

"Shh, sweetie," she murmured back, her eyes still closed. "Mommy's busy right now."

It was a little off putting to have mom treat me like this, but it felt too good to bother me. This was easily the longest amount of time I'd spent with my cock inside mom. I came to the realization that at this point we were, quite simply, having sex. That epiphany made my cock lurch inside mom and my hitherto distant orgasm felt like a suddenly imminent possibility. Mom was clearly coming to the same conclusion. Her hips bounced up and down over me, every time a little harder than the previous one, and each downstroke ending with a lewd slap of skin on skin.

I tried to hump my hips up to meet mom's downstrokes, but struggled to get any real motion with her weight pressing me down. So instead I opted for Plan B. I began to slowly lift my knees. My intention was to tilt mom forward and down against me. Once she was low enough I'd be able to wrap my arms around her and hold her in place while I hammered my hips into her.

Mom initiated her Counterplan C. She removed her hands from my mouth and chest, then leaned back slightly and put them on my thighs, forcing my legs back down again. I couldn't tilt her forward any more, but as compensation, mom's arched back pushed her breasts forward, forming a mouth watering outline inside her pyjama top. Her new position had also caused her top to ride up slightly so I could now see her pussy as it rose and fell on my cock.

Acting on impulse I moved my hand to mom's crotch, placing my palm flat to her body and sliding my thumb down to rub over her clit. I'd barely touched it when mom let out a sudden squeal and started shaking.

"Fuck!" she yelped, hunching forward and grabbing my wrist with one of her hands, then she arched back again and grabbed one of her tits with her other hand. After that she forced her hips down, crushing my thumb between us as she ground herself against me, trembling all the while.

I had no desire to ruin mom's orgasm, close though mine was, so I let her shake her way through it. As soon as she calmed down I would be becoming more active in this encounter. No more mister nice son. She'd be on her back before she knew what happened. She'd be my sex toy, just like I'd been hers. She'd be crying out my name as I filled her with cock and cum alike.

She'd be... hopping off me and the bed and stepping away, apparently. "Thanks, hon," she said. "I needed that."

I made a noise in response, a noise that somehow conveyed that I was glad I'd helped mom with her horniness, and that she could always count on me, but that I was now hard to the point of bursting and really really needed to finish. The last week had bestowed upon me an almost Pavlovian aversion to cumming outside of mom. So, hard though I was, I couldn't just jack off. That last bit wasn't communicated by the noise I made, that would be silly.

"Sorry, Steven," was mom's reply, as she looked at my throbbing dick. "I'm too sensitive now after that, and it's late. I should head to bed." She came over and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you in the morning," she said, before exiting stage left.

I thought about pursuing her like a bear, but it was nearly 3am and my body was unsure whether sleep or cumming was the real priority right now. If mom really was too sensitive to take my cock then that only left the sleep option. So I pulled the duvet back over me and waited for sleep to pull me under.

---

Sleep didn't exactly draw me into its sweet embrace. Rather than a cozy hug it went for an awkward high five, which it missed, followed by a second one that ended with a dull thud rather than a satisfying clap. In a last gasp attempt to save the situation, I went for a fist bump. You can't mess up a fist bump, right? Well you can if you're going for some classic fist-to-fist bumpy action, whereas the metaphorical personification of sleep tries to shake your hand.

I slept like shit, is what I'm trying to say.

Initially I was just too horny to get to sleep. Mom had left my balls so blue that they were practically ultraviolet. But jacking off wasn't an option. I would've been within my rights to do so, I know, and soon enough I'd have to get used to masturbating again, but for now my cum belonged to mom. That left me waiting for my erection to go down, which took its sweet time. And then once I had calmed down from the state mom had left me in I started thinking about the next morning. About storming into mom's room the moment I woke up, ripping her bottoms off, and dumping what felt like a gallon of backed up cum inside her. If she was in the kitchen I'd fuck her over the table. In the living room? The couch would do. I couldn't help but fantasize about how I'd give her my cock in every room of the house - the ones we'd already done stuff in and the ones we hadn't.

By the time my dirty thoughts gave way to sleep it was already starting to lighten outside. My last waking thought was of the possibility that I wouldn't have to go anywhere to impale mom. If the night had proved anything it was that mom was seriously addicted to our sessions. Chances are I'd wake up to the sweet, sweet feeling of mom lowering her pussy straight onto my waiting hardon.

---

I woke with a start, some vague remnants of a dream about being a toy train driver already fading from memory. I looked around my room blearily. It was not a vast room and I could say unequivocally that mom was definitely not in there. My hardon was, but my bladder assured me that was normal morning wood rather than the remnants of a nocturnal visit from mom.

Once I'd popped to the bathroom I threw on some clothes and headed downstairs. In the kitchen I glanced at the clock and realized that 'morning wood' might have been a misnomer since it was the early afternoon already. For a moment I wondered why mom hadn't dragged me out of bed, but then I saw a note on the kitchen table.

"Gone out, back later. Mom x" it said. Not the most informative of notes. There was no way of knowing whether she'd gone out a few minutes ago and would be back in several hours, or whether she'd gone out several hours ago and would be back in a few minutes. I picked up the note and stared at it from several angles, wondering if I could figure out how long it'd been there.

But no, CSI: Steven was a failure and I still had no clue. I made myself a vast lunch to make up for missing breakfast, devoured it, and washed up, all with no sign of mom. Five minutes passed by with me sat at the kitchen table twiddling my thumbs, then five more. After fifteen minutes I decided I was being ridiculous. Mom would be back when she was back and I wasn't going to magically summon her no matter how well twiddled my thumbs were.

If mom was going to vanish then I could too. I added a postscript to her note to tell her that I had headed out as well, then tossed the book I was reading in a bag and left the house.