Nursing Him

Nursing Him

I can hear him snoring peacefully in the spare room. I poke my head in, bandages wadded in my palm. Take his temperature, feel his limp wrist. Check the dressing across his crown: no, it doesn't need changing just yet. I sigh, sit down in the chair by the window. Morning sun filters in, as does birdsong and the herby scent of the kitchen garden.

It was a nasty stumble that he took. He really shouldn't be foraging this far from the village, it isn't safe. I thought I was rid of those hasty folk, but they do crop up from time to time, wandering the outskirts of the county. Never as young as this one though. I see the sun catch on the handsome line of his jaw and I inhale sharply. Never ones this good-looking.

I cough and brush down my apron. God, I'm at least ten years older than him. And I simply plan to care for him until he recovers. Nothing more. I go out into the garden to collect wildflowers in a vase. I place them on the bedside table so that he has something pretty to wake up to.

-----

He mumbles his first words in the evening. Unsurprisingly he cannot recount much from the day before, simply that he was halfway through a day of berry-picking when his foot snared on a root and down he tumbled into the ravine.

He thanks me, profusely, and says he doesn't want to be a nuisance and can be gone as soon as he can walk. I tell him that he can stay longer if he wants to. His soft eyes light up at that and he says that I'm too kind. I feel a warmth wash over me.

He has a precious name, foreign sounding and rather hard to pronounce so I won't try to capture it here. He says he needs to forage for his trade: he is an aspiring botanist. He's also something of a nomad, without any real ties to the neighbouring village bar a vague cousin once removed. He doesn't mention any other connections, nothing of parents, siblings, or friends. No girlfriend, which surprises me. I muse that he is a very handsome young man. He chuckles and fidgets and I watch his pretty lashes flicker before we both look away. I go to get more tea.

-----

I bring him plants from the garden to keep him company while I'm away. He takes time to study them, holding them incredibly close to his face. His lips part subtly and his eyes grow wide as he strips back soft petals with his gentle fingers. Again, I feel warm, a fluttery sensation low in my belly that I'm doing my best to ignore.

Getting up is still an effort for him, so I help him to his feet when he needs the outhouse or to walk in the garden. I can feel his lean yet muscular frame through his shirt as my arm braces his back. He walks in a stagger, two quick steps at a time, and I notice how he tilts himself away to avoid my gaze, to avoid leaning into my bosom. He almost falls over doing this and I pull him back up. He presses against my ribs, nudges into the side of my breast. I tell him that it's okay to lean on me. My voice takes on a soothing note that I can only recall using in my younger years, when I was courting. I say no more as we continue out the door.

-----

He is propped up in bed and I'm leaning against the doorframe. There are stars sparkling outside, night breeze plays in the curtains. I take his finished plate from him; he has licked it clean. He tells me how delicious it was, as he always does. He's smiling pleasantly but there is a certain wistfulness in his face. I sit on the bed. He shuffles over to make space.

What's wrong? I ask.

Oh, nothing. I'm getting stronger by the day, soon I'll be able to leave, get back on with everything. He doesn't sound too thrilled.

There's no rush, dear. You still need your rest.

I just feel like such a burden on you... You've been like a mother to me, oh, you've been so kind! His eyes are getting wet.

You are not a burden. No, no, not at all. I extend my hand hesitantly, rest it upon his. Stroke his trembling palm. He is starting to cry and I want to hold him, even more than I have before these past few days.

I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying; it isn't right. Not in front of a lady.

Oh, don't say such things. It's more than okay - please, let it out. I sit closer, pull him into my arms. I feel a stab of shame as my heart quickens from feeling him this close. I let him sob into my chest, and in this moment I want him to stay nestled here with me forever. I'm stroking his hair and soothing him with sweet nothings. Let it out, baby, it's okay. I'm here.

God, I'm calling him 'baby.'

He pulls away and wipes his eyes. He's still holding me and I'm holding him, too, our bodies interlinked. He blinks hard and breaks away from me, but it's too late, I've already taken notice of the distinct stiffness between his legs - it was prodding into me. He has withdrawn and is now hiding it, folding his blanket over himself.

I stroke his hand a while longer. He says he will be okay. He tries again to apologise for crying and I tell him not to be sorry, and to call for me if he needs anything. Taking the candle in its saucer, I bid him goodnight rather hastily, praying that he can't see how much I'm blushing.

-----

Hours pass and I still can't sleep. I'm rolling my hands over my thighs, over the place he stuck so sharply into me. I'm thinking about the times I helped him wash with the basin, steamy water splashing down over his bare shoulders, down his lithe torso and soaking the towel about his waist. I could see something swinging in his towel those times, too, and had to excuse myself before I did something I might regret.

Knowing that he could very well feel the same things for me is making me feral, to put it plainly. I wring my hands, debating whether I should go and check on him. The choice is made for me: I hear his voice crying out in pain. I rush over, crack open the door.

He's crying out in his sleep, shaking too. A nightmare. I rustle him awake, hold his hand. He takes a while to come to, and before he does he whimpers something that makes my knees cave. Mummy, that feels good, Mummy.

He wasn't crying out in fear. He was moaning. My mind and body are buzzing, on high alert. He's awake now, squinting his eyes - recognising me. I take a breath. Time to play dumb. Hey, hey, are you alright?

Oh, um, yes. Yes, I am. He's stuttering, slurring his speech, and his dazed state would be aiding his façade if I didn't know better. He brings his knees up to soften any outline in the sheets that could give him away. I was having a bit of a strange dream, is all.

It sounded like quite a scary one. I play along. I have yet to remove my hand from his. His eyes drift to my waist as I sit down onto the bed, inches from his face. I arch my back, just a touch.

Yeah, but... I'm okay, now. Thank you for waking me. He coughs, rubs his arm. Waiting for me to leave. I stay put.

How about I sit here with you for a while? Will that make you feel better?

He chews his lip, mulls it over. Um, yes. Yes, I would like that. Only it's not too much trouble...

It's fine with me, baby. Once again I'm lacing my voice with soothing femininity. No turning back now. Only, it's a bit chilly in here. I might just have to get in there with you, if that's alright.

His breath hitches, then releases. Okay. He shuffles over tentatively. Only, is there enough room?

I'll manage. God, I'm actually doing this. I slide in next to him and we both barely squeeze in. He's so close, so warm beside me. I can smell the lavender that we picked and crushed today still lingering on his soft skin. I turn away from him. Okay, then, let's get some sleep.

Goodnight.

Goodnight, baby.

-----

We spend less than five minutes in restless silence before I feel him shift in the sheets. I mirror his motion, feigning a yawn as I press my hips back. I hesitate, then push back more. More, more, until I find him. I apply the slightest pressure and am delighted to feel him stay there.

Mm. A muffled sound from him that turns me on in a second. You okay? He mumbles. He sounds half asleep but his lower body is telling me otherwise.

Just need to get comfy. That's all. I whisper as I roll my hips in a little circle. He's getting hard and he tries to retreat slightly. I let myself chase him, ever so subtly keeping the pressure up. Another slow, grinding twirl and I hear him stifle a girlish moan. His noises are so pretty.

Are you okay back there? I tease.

Yes, it just feels nice is all.

What feels nice, baby?

You know what.

No, I don't. I giggle. He's getting wet at his tip and it's soaking into my loose nightclothes. I could moan, but I keep my composure. Tell me, tell me what feels nice.

You do... He's so precious.

What about me? Oh, you mean my ass? I push harder, rolling my hips down and up. I feel him shudder and a whimper escapes his lips before he can stop himself.

Yes, yes, your... Your ass feels good. Oh, God, I'm sorry...

Don't be sorry, baby. Just sit there and take it. I encourage him. His hands travel up my sides and cup my breasts. I let it happen. He kneads them tentatively at first but soon enough he's holding nothing back, rummaging inside my nightshirt, his hands rolling under the silky fabric and pinching me roughly.

Is this okay?

It's so good, baby. You're very good at that.

That makes me happy. He's moving his hips on his own now, so desperate to keep rubbing up against me, pressing hard into my ass, refusing to back down. He's starting to shudder with pleasure, groping me needily.

I can feel his shallow breath on my neck. I push him over the edge. Does Mummy's ass feel good?

Ah, ah... Yes...

Yes what?

Yes Mummy, your... Oh God! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. He's whimpering into my hair, his hips convulsing as I feel something hot and sticky soak through his undergarments, staining my own. His shaft is pulsing through the fabric, riding along the cleft of my ass with every spurt, over and over until he gasps and falls onto his back. Without thinking I clamber on top of him and kiss him wildly, his pretty face, his cool neck, all the while whispering at him how good of a boy he is.

My lips travel tenderly down his chest and abs. I strip his pants back and take his hand gently as I lick him clean. He is drenched in his load; there is plenty to swallow. He keeps on mumbling how sorry he is which only makes me suck him faster. He whines and gasps, starts to writhe about with the overload of stimulation. I shift my weight onto his thighs, hold him down while I savour the last far-flung droplets. My stomach is full of butterflies and his cum as I praise him. Oh, you came so much, baby. You came so much for me.

Yes, I did, Mummy. I couldn't help it... Did you need to as well?

You just have your rest for now, baby. God knows I'll be touching myself over this for weeks to come, but for some reason I just want to keep nurturing him. My own need for pleasure takes a backseat as I cosy up beside him.

I cradle him in my arms. I feel his bare legs, still all in a tremble, clasping around me, his shaft sliding against my thigh, soft and spent. With a delicious lack of urgency, he grinds against me as he drifts off, his words slurring as his eyes slowly flutter shut. Thank you for making me cum, Mummy.

You're welcome, baby.

His breathing becomes slower, steadier as he finally falls asleep. He snuggles into me more, unconsciously finding his way onto my breasts, using them as his pillow. I drop my fingers down between my legs and go slowly, slowly, finishing myself off to the smell of his hair, to the feeling of him pressed against me. To the lingering taste of him, still faint in my watering mouth.

Oh, I could get used to this.