Ted, Silvia and Chloe

Chapter 1.

Ted got in around 2 O' clock. Shift work, coupled with snow made him later than usual. The lamp was left on dim by the wife - Silvia. He creaked across the wooden floor of the tenement in his working boots on tip-toe not to wake neighbors; turning up that thermostat when passed on way to his dirty-clothes closet.

He longed for it: Kicking off everything that reminded him of work, except his piss stained vest. He dropped it all in there; a damp steaming heap of soiled clothing. The wife would sort it out in the morning. It was chilly.

Ted made a B-line for the fridge - yanked it open. Blinded, he fumbled for a beer and lime, and farted long and hard and almost followed through. He needed to go and take a dump, but beer first.

En route kitchen: Cock and balls dangling amidst tired thigh; swinging and swaying unfettered - in juxtaposition of gait, but wait - rather, in demonstrative Newtonian style; passing a hung photograph of mother, the causation of which set forth his flaccid penis summarily to twitch - almost with life it seemed. It had been a while, almost like a dream, putting a glint of a smile on a face of granite, chiseled relentlessly, as water carves into stone, on a wet and dreary night of a common and garden planet.

Kitchen bound: Ted sliced a sliver of lime, and shoved the wedge down - the bottle's gizzard, into its chilly broth beneath; awaiting.

A force feeding of a kind in essence, spurring-up the golden liquid's inherent effervescence, with bubbling enthusiasm they say; why, it's only a beer, it's not as if it's Guantanamo Bay - with its tubes and funnels an' all - and as the sucking fizz of the exploding CO2 of the near vertical glass-bottled-tit built up pressure, forcing, with each gulp, a greater and greater exponential grog-thrust down the neck of its abuser: Finally, the run came to an end, as the bottle emptied, with the sliver of lime following the booze at an accelerated rate into the craw.

Choking: Ted vomited - projectile - which simultaneously back-filled his beer bottle, and continued on almost hitting the ceiling; the spew rained down, and Ted went for another beer. Silvia would clean it up in the morning.

Second bottle - no lime: Long breaths taken, lips parted. The tipping of the bottle's contents had barely started. In earnest, again, they became rampant, and a mere swig taken became glugging. He wasn't worried. He had a six-pack, so there was no sense of skulking, but there always exhibited a bent toward the hurried. Head back; bottle perpendicular, Ted sucking harder than a new born at the teat, foam building explosively in the chamber, he finished with a burp, and his ass farted.

As he guzzled away, one of his eyes was pinned on the photo. His cock became semi-erect - the head filling up with blood, but the shaft still a limp noodle. His mind had wandered back to when he had just turned eighteen, and his mother caught him sniffing her panties in the laundry room that fateful afternoon, beating his meat faster than a cocktail shaker at happy hour. He never forgot how the sheer fright of being discovered by his mother had made him ejaculate like The Fountains of Seville themselves, as she stood there scolding and beating him with a towel - her rage mounting and mounting.

Ted took after his grandfather, with a full twelve and a half inch long pole, and thick as a spade handle it was with a ripe apple stuck on the end of it - and at 18 years of age, his battery of cum was seemingly inexhaustible - he was quite confident that, during the panty-sniffing incident in the laundry, that he hit his mother in the tits, one in the eye and a bully-shot, directly into her intermittently, opening and closing, screaming, chastising, gob with a well aimed load, before she gave up and left him alone with his guilt and glory and spurting cock, to make up a story of - innocence.

Only father spoke at dinner that night, but father didn't take after grandpapa- sporting only a marginal "little-finger weenie" protuberance of the groin, I'm afraid.

Ted believed - sincerely - to be sure, that mother wanted to have the top end of her vagina massaged - from the inside, of course, and he had the instrument to accomplish this. He did her once whilst the family was on vacation in the south of France, when they both had had a little too much vino, and father was delayed by fog at the airport that evening.

Ted, now a powerful nineteen year old buck, did all three of her holes for hours that night. The cow made a terrible racket - as he recalled, but good ole grandpa, with his huge hand-me-down dick and with a pair of balls like an Angus bull, coupled-up with a prostate that could multiple-orgasm and milk out a good half cup of sperm in one sitting, why, no wonder mother stayed in bed for three days afterwards, and walked sort of...carefully for the rest of the vacation, as if she was about to shit herself. After all, it was she who insisted on having it shoved up her gazoo, and Ted had obliged with every inch at his disposal.

Ted had become adroit at prolonging the pleasure-zone of masturbation whilst wanking, by a combination of coming, then biting his lip and tongue - really hard - thus overriding the dopamine blast in the brain with pain. In this way he could beat his meat in his bedroom for hours and hours: Coming many more times than his female [wanking] counterpart - dispelling long held myths, albeit unscientifically verifiably - at the moment - that woman can have more orgasms than men.

Ted could cum thirty plus times in a night and, handily, fill up a quarter of a regular coffee-mug with his jizz. The only down side was that he would have to lay off rubbing for a bit for fear of wearing the skin off on his bell-end flanges. Many times he drew blood, but carried on regardless, inexorably drawn, toward the ultimate goal... the final pay-off; that which the female is so addicted to: The' mighty - orgasm.

I was off the hook that night, remembered Ted. He swore he'd never mix Pernod, and Chardonnay again.

Dad was absent. Mom had too much to drink, along with her son, Ted, and he hadn't seen his girlfriend for over a fortnight. It was an event just waiting to happen.

Ted and his mom went out for dinner that night, and a cheesy jerk tried to pull her. Silvia, Ted's mother, seemed - interested. I kicked her foot under the table and she blew him off. We talked about stupid stuff, and ordered desert and coffee. Mom ordered a brandy with a sparkling-water chaser. She didn't drink the water.

Before I could get mom off the table, and up to our room, she had guzzled down three more brandies. Eventually, I helped her up and we made it to the elevator - without much ado. Apparently 5-star establishments have no - "incidents"... to speak of.

Mom was laughing. She was Jovial... in a congenial, yet abusive way, as I carried her limp carcass out of the lift, opening the suite door with her slumped over his shoulder.

Chapter 2.

I threw her on the bed without malice. The bounce was a testament to the mattress strength which the hotel promoted with unnecessary detail. She bounced twice.

Ted was about to switch off the light and leave, when he looked back and noticed that his mother's, rather short, pleated skirt had been thrown up over her midriff when he had unloaded her off of his shoulder. Her legs were open, and she was sporting quite skimpy, almost see-through, lace panties which had rode up into her bald, shaven, vagina giving her the most enormous camel-toe! It looked fairly uncomfortable to Ted, so he decided to help her out a little.

Ted went to his mom's aid, and rolled her panties off her ass, pulling the gusset gently out of the mouth of her cunt. She was wet, and something shiny and viscous was driveling out of her hole, and her clitoris - which was an amazing ¾ of an inch long at least - was rock hard, and stuck out proudly, from her glistening, pouting, engorged labia. Ted remembers thinking that it looked like the mouth of a Hagfish, with a beautiful, fully-bloomed, red rose stuck down its throat.

Ted pulled the warm panties down her ample thighs and along her slender, well shaped, legs; over her white stilettos, and off her. The gusset was soaked and sticky, and there was a beige skid-mark where her ass-hole had slept.

Ted sniffed at them pensively at first, remembering that day a year ago, in the laundry room, when he was caught in the act. They were highly perfumed by Silvia's gash, and ring, and he wondered if she had worn them for a few days? The whiff reminded him of a sizzling pan-full of butter sautéed shrimp, and steamed king-crab legs, with a hint of garlic and lemon juice. The skid-mark had the distinct aroma of burnt toast, coupled by freshly ground Columbian coffee beans, all revolving around the distinct waft from an old, damp, leather, gardening boot.

The instant Silvia's pheromones hit Ted's amygdale, his rod turned to granite, and he winced in pain as the tubular monster almost snapped itself in two, as it elongated through the leg-hole of his jockeys, tearing out tufts of pubic hair that had gotten wrapped around the head whilst laying there between his legs in its dormant mode.

Ted was frantic by now. He had Silvia's knickers over his head, licking and sucking the gusset, and beige stain, whilst wriggling around with his hand down the front of his bulging pants trying to pull his stem up and out of the leg of his briefs. Finally he got relief, and his snake popped out from the waistband of his pants a good seven inches, the other five and a half still inside.

Ted's cock was enormous, and his balls were aching, and high up in his scrotum, almost disappearing into his lower abdomen, dancing around in their sack like a couple of crazed marionettes; his prostate bulging with thick, hot, semen - sperm by the millions were gathered ready to be shot out of him, and into someone else - anybody.

Ted's foreskin had been used up by his stout erection, and he had grown so large that the cord at the back of his helmet pulled open the eye of his penis so wide that a cigarette could easily have been dropped into it, with room to spare.

The knob end of his rod looked as if it had been polished, and it was hot, and purple, with blushes of scarlet rimming the edge of the flange. It was bulbous, and lumpy, much as when a butcher holds up a handful of fresh calf's kidney to a prospective customer at market, and a thick blue vein, meandering along the length of stalk, feeding the business-end with a constant supply of pumping blood.

All it took was less than half a dozen rubs, and Ted groaned in ecstasy as he let go of a salvo of cum shots, that were so powerful, that he could hear them leaving the head of his cock at high velocity. Although he couldn't see where his semen had landed, due to his mother's knickers over his head and face, nevertheless, they were so large, that he could plainly hear them landing with a loud splat, and, as he struggled to halt his ejaculation, by biting his tongue and lip, so hard that he drew blood, in order not to blow all of his load in one go, he tried to distract himself by calculating the height that his ejaculate had achieved, by using the time interval between the noise of his cum leaving his knob, and the splat of it landing. Ted estimated the apogee of his cum's parabolic trajectory to be approximately six to seven foot. It was lucky that the hotel rooms had high ceilings, he ruminated to himself.

Chapter 3.

Ted successfully arrested his orgasm, with more than half his semen left. Talk about the, "Whole-Nine-Yards"! ...Well, Ted had barely touched his magazine; a few shot here - a few shots there. No! He felt he had plenty of ammunition left, and that he was duty-bound - for Queen and Country - to shoot until empty, and that is what he aimed to do.

Ted pulled his mother's stinky panties to one side, and scanned the situation out of one of the leg-holes. She was out cold from the booze. Mouth open, and snoring, but she still had an enormous clitoral erection going on, and her hole was oozing with drivel: A river of sticky gelatinous fluid that continuously bled from her hole. Disappearing between the crack of her ass; lubricating the way for anal penetration, and landing up in the hotel bed quilt.

Ted regrouped his thoughts, and - almost, came to his senses.

He had gotten a little bit carried away, but mom was out of it too, and, so, he could call it a day, and leave. It was the perfect get-away. Giving the situation great thought; that's what he decided to do. Ted pulled up his pants and buttoned his fly. His cock was still fully erect, and poked out above his belt a great deal.

Ted took his mother's panties off his head, and slipped them back on her. It was perfect: She would never know, but he would have all of the memories.

Ted rolled the underwear over her high heels, up her slender shins and along her ample thighs. He raised her a little, to get the, firm, balloon-like buttocks into their lace harness. All that was left to do was to now, was to cover the clout slipping the sucked-gusset back between the engorged, red-rose swollen labia wings, and get the Hell outta there! Ted had gotten lucky. His innate common sense, kicking in, just when needed the most, but... just as he was about to cover the crack with panty, he saw that clitoris again, and he would swear on the bible itself, that that thing was a full two inches long, and sticking up for fine weather!

Ted subconsciously begged himself to go, but he just couldn't leave, not without giving it just, "One for the Gipper".

Ted conjectured: He reasoned, and rationalized. He argued and debated. He scolded and condemned himself, but in the end, he always came to the very same conclusion. How many times in a life time, does a man gain the opportunity to give "head", and not be deemed homosexual? ...and with his mother - to boot!

So, he relented. He gave in to the tyranny of his vices, and he peeled her knickers back off her, and opened her legs - lovingly - just a little bit more, to check for smegma. There was none, or rather very little: Little enough to be ignored, under the current circumstances.

Ted took his mother's - female - penis carefully between his lips, and a second or two following "touch-down", he sucked the entire length of her into his mouth. Ted had never given head before, so he had to use his memory of the thousands of hours of porno-sluts that he had seen giving head-rod on screen, that's all he had to go on.

Ted improvised, and was able to give his mom monumental fellatio, as opposed to the ordinary common-and-garden cunnalingus called for in such instances - Why, she got both, and what woman would ever complain about that, it needs to be asked - And, whilst, simultaneously lapping up the goo running out of her hole with his flicking cobra-like tongue, caressing her major and minor wings, to be sure: I mean it was a win/win situation - on mom's part mainly, though.

Albeit, this was good for Ted, as the five-course meal that they had earlier was wearing off him, and the new imbibing of protein came in handy. He was just rearing up to go was he, and he needed the provisions to go with him - Mom provided.

Something happened! Maybe Ted's mom had an orgasm, he didn't quite know, but she started pissing, and soaked him.

Quickly, Ted retreated. Sized up the situation, grabbed the trash can and darted to the end of his mom's piss-stream. It was huge. He was half way across the room, trying to catch the torrent in the bucket. Creeping closer and closer to Silvia's cunt - his gaping mom's cunt - as the arc of the golden river finally relented.

Ted noted that the piss-stream seem to follow a somewhat conventional exponential-curvature arc degeneration of power akin to volume, which caused him to miss a pint or two, at the knee. Not that he didn't anticipate the sudden decrease in - both volume-of-flow - and of pressure, which, dynamically, he knew - second-nature - to be congruent, or not, as it happens, with non-linear proponents: But, that's what went on, and the carpet got wet. Hell, they were paying $500.00 a night! Who gives a flying monkey's frig if someone shits in the planter pot at that rate. - nobody; let me tell you - Nobody!

Chapter 4.

As soon as Ted got that second sniff, his clothes flew off faster than shingles in a Katrina-roof hurricane. His balls and pubic region were shaved clean, out of sheer boredom. He aspired to the creation of a foreign entity within his own psyche; one that he could have sex with - on a mono-recipient basis - but which felt exactly like that, the very act, was... somewhat, spontaneous, or even new. Like having it off with you girlfriend, but visualizing that sexy bitch on New-at-Ten, as one cums, in the sweated darkness, of one's apparent, funky-smell, predicament. ...Its funny, how women, women in general I mean, totally disregard the potential impact of the stink of their cunts, upon their rise in stature. Slight odors are permissible to discernible clientele, but measured in parts per million, it ought to be - meager. I mean, I don't want to be sniffing what you ate three days ago - Hell, wash that thing honey. Wash It, you hear me... Wash that Mother now...! Git...

(To be continued)...