The Drone

She looked up at him from her knees. "There. All dry. Feeling better?"

"Yeah," he responded, staring down into the abundance of cleavage her romper pajamas revealed.

"Your clothes are not quite through in the washer."

"Okay."

Her eyes bent toward his penis, and she said, "One moment, Biff."

She brought the towel up and massaged it into his pubic hair. "You are still a bit damp here."

"Oh."

Finishing, Mrs. Jamali took his penis into her fingers through the towel and lifted it. She looked closely before letting it down and standing. "Good," she decided, "Come. I will get you a dry towel."

He followed her in a daze of confusion.

She is just being motherly, he repeated to himself.

But, I'm not some toddler, he answered.

There was nothing sexual, he argued.

She just held my dick through a towel, he responded.

"Wait here, please," she said, pointing to her bed.

He did, and Mrs. Jamali pulled a fresh, folded towel from a small plastic bin. She brought it to him.

Biff noticed that she was looking more and more at his naked body, especially his penis. Her body touched his as she stepped behind him and wrapped the towel around his waist.

"It's warm," Biff noted.

"Towel warmer," she responded.

"Oh."

She remained back there. Biff felt her hands on his back and shoulders.

"Your skin is becoming dry," she said, "and your muscles are tight. Lay on your stomach."

"I'm okay," he said.

"Lay down, please."

He did, sliding across the plush comforter. He inadvertently groaned at how its cool, downy coziness let his tired muscles relax.

Moments later, she returned carrying a medium-sized jar. "This is body butter. The scent is not too strong."

"You don't have to do that, Mrs. Jamali."

"Your skin needs this, and you can call me Nira," she responded. Sitting beside him, Mrs. Jamali began to rub the thick, creamy lotion into the skin on his back.

A sigh of pleasure escaped Biff. She wants to pamper me, he thought. That's all.

She stopped, and then Biff felt her climb onto the bed. Suddenly, she was sitting on his ass and both hands slid around his back, neck, and arms.

Biff wanted to tell her how good her hands felt, how incredibly relaxed she was making him, but he couldn't bring himself to say either.

Mrs. Jamali climbed down, nestling between his legs near his calves.

Biff heard the jar's lid open and close. He heard Mrs. Jamali's hands rubbing together. Then, she was kneading the butter into his calves, ankles, and the bottoms of his feet.

Working up toward the backs of his knees, she stopped to gather more lotion. When her hands returned, they slid under the towel and firmly massaged it into his hamstrings.

And higher.

Will she stop? Biff wondered. Should I stop her?

Another thought sprang into his mind: can anyone stop this woman from doing what she wants?

Then, another: do I want her to stop?

Mrs. Jamali's small hands rubbed the cream into Biff's ass.

He couldn't speak. His nerves fired on high alert, and his heart raced.

When it was clear she had adequately covered his flesh and rubbed it into him, her hands vanished.

Will she want to do my front?

Before Biff could consider this question, one of her hands slipped back under the towel, and a lone, lotion covered finger spread the butter down Biff's ass crack and over his anus.

"Uh...," he started, head rising from the mattress.

"Calm yourself, Biff. These parts of the body can get dry and chafe, as well, can they not?"

"Um...."

Her finger slid back to the top, and it spread and massaged the cream into his skin.

Biff put his head down, feeling her finger move down and, finally, yes, gently spread and rubbed the lotion onto his asshole.

Biff cringed, but it ended.

Her hand came out from under the towel, and she said, "Turn over, please."

"Thanks, but—uh—I can get the front myself," he said, but he didn't even know why he spoke. The lady was implacable.

"Come, Biff. Please turn over."

He did.

Her eyes briefly darted toward the front of the towel, but there was nothing to see. Biff was too nervous to be erect.

Mrs. Jamali threw her leg over him and sat on his groin. She continued the body butter rub-down.

It was intensely sexual, Biff knew. She was on top of his cock. If not for the towel and the thin fabric of her pajama, there would be sexual contact.

But, Mrs. Jamali did not grind upon him. She did not sigh or moan or look upon him with lustful eyes.

She was natural. Her eyes remained no-nonsense stern as she covered his face, arms, neck, chest, and stomach with the lotion.

When she finished, she quickly flipped herself around. Her ponytail swept back and forth like a pendulum.

Oh, shit, Biff thought. Reverse cowgirl.

Mrs. Jamali rubbed the cream into his feet, working her way back up. When she got to his knees, she scooted backward. She now sat upon his belly.

The fabric of her romper was wedged inside Mrs. Jamali's ass, leaving little to the imagination. Biff watched its subtle movement as she spread and kneaded the lotion on his knees.

Her fingers drew the bottom of the towel apart, exposing his thighs. She gathered more butter, scooted further up his body, and rubbed Biff legs.

Mrs. Jamali's butt was just beneath Biff's nipples.

At length, she finished on his thighs. She rose to her knees and moved her ass closer to his face.

Her butt was full and curvy, slightly disproportionate to the rest of her. She had fit, sleek thighs, but a big ass. Biff supposed it was how a lot of Moms were made.

Mrs. Jamali did not move. She spoke. "Do you wish for me to continue?" As she said this, she bent lightly forward, arching her back and resting her hands on the bed. Fully presented to him, her ass came to rest mere inches from Biff's face.

He could smell her now, and she smelled like those panties in the top drawer of his room.

"Yes," he said, feeling that ferocious hunger begin to simmer deep within.

Mrs. Jamali dug her toes under Biff's arms, and he raised them. She slid her calves under his shoulders and inched her ass further back. There was no comfortable place for his hands on the bed. He just held them in the air.

One at a time, Mrs. Jamali took Biff's hands and placed them high on her legs, not far at all from her crotch. If Biff had dared, a simple rotation of the wrist and stretching of his middle finger would have brought it in contact with the fabric covering her vagina.

Biff and Mrs. Jamali were interlocked.

She adjusted herself, and her ass pushed back, burying Biff's chin into the cleft. He breathed her in.

Biff felt Mrs. Jamali draw the tucked end of the towel from his belly and pull wide the two sides, utterly exposing him to her.

There was a certain helplessness to his position, but he no longer cared.

He heard Mrs. Jamali dip her fingers into the jar and felt her spread the lotion on the inside pockets of his hips. She rubbed it into the skin under his pubic hairs and the insides of his thighs, everywhere except his penis and testicles. On more than one occasion, the back of her fingers glided along one or both of his testicles.

The aroma of Mrs. Jamali's body surrounded his nose, and Biff knew his penis was reacting to it.

She swept her fingers through the body butter and began applying it to Biff's scrotum in gentle circles. Then, he felt her fingers on his burgeoning erection. Soon, he was completely coated, and Mrs. Jamali's magical fingers kneaded and massaged the lotion deep into both the tender skin of his testicles and the pliant skin now stretched tautly over his unyielding erection.

Biff gasped, feeling his cock twitch and flex under Mrs. Jamali's touch.

It isn't fair, he thought. He couldn't help it. On the one hand, his body ached for these touches. On the other, he was angry at himself and mortified by his arousal in front of this older woman.

"There is no need to be embarrassed, Biff," she calmly uttered as if reading his thoughts. "It is natural." Suddenly, she untangled her legs and climbed off him. "All finished," she said, sitting on her knees beside his hip, "unless there is something else you need from me."

Mrs. Jamali's nipples jutted through the thin fabric of her romper. Between the two protuberances, a dark line of cleavage lay exposed to Biff, along with two swaths of glorious, bulging flesh from the insides of her breasts.

Biff had never been so nervous in his life, not even before the state finals in the 110 Highs. He hated himself for desiring her; it violated something upon which he had relied for so long. He needed to avoid all of this, but he wanted to stay with her, too. Reaching for something— anything—to say, Biff asked, "Mrs. Jamali, do you like my—my body?"

"You can call me Nira," she said with a smile, perusing Biff's naked form. Half of a minute elapsed before she turned back to his face and responded, "Yes, I like it very much."

He swallowed hard. Nodding, he said, "But, I'm ug...I'm not—not good-looking?"

Mrs. Jamali's eyebrows fired downward. "Who told you this?" she demanded, rising up on her knees.

Biff's voice stammered and halted.

She cut through. "Never mind. This—what you said—is not true. You must not ever think this way again." She placed her hands on her hips. "Tell me you will not say it or believe it."

Transfixed and speechless, Biff stared at her.

"Tell me now or go," she said, thrusting her finger toward the bedroom door.

"Okay! Okay, I'm—I'm not ugly."

"No, you are not," she snapped. Then, calming, she touched his cheek with loving affection and said, "You are very handsome. Every woman would agree with me on this."

Too uneasy with the situation to consider her words, Biff struggled to find a way to slow things down so that he could think about what he ought to do. He was naked and erect in an older woman's home, for fuck's sake. The way she loomed over his body in those tight pajamas was all wrong.

"Will—will you maybe lay beside me?" Biff asked.

Mrs. Jamali smiled. She stretched out next to him on her side. Rubbing her leg on his, she snuggled into Biff. "Your body is nice and warm from the shower."

Her hand alighted on Biff's chest, and it caressed him. She dragged her fingers limply in wide circles downward, downward.

Oh, shit. Oh, fuck, Biff thought. His brain was not strong enough to provide an answer to this dilemma.

When she stopped, her fingers buried themselves in his pubic hair. She grasped a handful and held it. Biff felt two—three of her knuckles against the root of his penis.

Their eyes met, six inches apart. Biff's heart wanted to tell her she was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen, but he couldn't. Moms were not sexy. Biff's heart thudded against his chest.

"Biff, have you ever kissed a girl?"

Not wanting to be truthful, Biff fought for time. "Huh?"

"Forgive me, but you always seem quite nervous around me, especially now. This is why I ask if you have kissed a girl before."

As if his mind and body disagreed, Biff shook his head from side to side, saying, "Sure I—I've been with a girl before."

Mrs. Jamali smiled as if she instantly saw through the lie. She uttered, "I wish for you to lie still. I am going to kiss you."

Her face approached, and her eyes closed, and Biff let her do it. It was soft and not dry, but not wet either. It was tender.

They are, Biff thought, exactly the way I hoped girls' lips would be like.

Biff felt Mrs. Jamali's lips undulate on his own. She broke the kiss, and Biff watched her.

Her eyes remained closed, and for a moment they pinched together as if in pain, and as they opened to look upon Biff, Mrs. Jamali uttered a faint, sighing moan.

Biff's mind could not collect and process all of the sublime beauty in that sound before Mrs. Jamali said, "That was very nice."

"Yeah."

"How may I please you, Biff?" she asked in a clear, soothing voice.

Biff shook his head. He knew he should leave, but he wanted to stay beside her. He didn't know what was supposed to happen next. He didn't know how to ask a girl for the pleasure he so needed, and he didn't know how to disappoint a Mom he should get away from. Finally, he asked, "Does it please you to see me like this—see me naked?" When the words came out, he grimaced because he had used her word—"please"—and it didn't sound right coming from him.

"You already know it does."

"Do you—do you like my...uh...?" His eyes darted downward.

Hers followed. "Your penis? Yes, it is lovely."

Biff could not comprehend the word "lovely" associated with a penis, but Mrs. Jamali was a woman. She had a right, he supposed, to that word. He asked the follow-up question that had been vexing him for some time. "Remember when you had me—had me lift it up so that you could see...?" He couldn't finish.

"Your testicles? Yes, I remember asking for this more than once."

He opened his mouth, but found he could not ask. It was too weird a question.

Mrs. Jamali asked, "Do you wish to know why I wanted this?"

Biff nodded.

She stretched beside him, very cat-like, saying, "Perhaps I am different from some women in this way, Biff, but I have always liked testicles—balls. I like yours very much, as you know."

"Why?"

"Why do I like chicken on my pizza and you like...what do you like on pizza, Biff?"

"Pepperoni."

"Yes, pepperoni. Why do people have different tastes? We just do. I love testicles."

"More than penises?"

Mrs. Jamali released and re-gripped Biff's pubic hair. She said, "Of course not. It is like how some men prefer breasts and others behinds, but all desire the vagina."

Still confused, Biff argued, "But, you can do things with breasts and ass—behinds, I mean. There's nothing to do with testicles."

"Ah," she said, growing animated, "this is where you are wrong. I can satisfy my desire for balls in many ways." When she said "balls," it sounded like "bowls." Biff liked it.

As she said this, Mrs. Jamali's fingers began curling into Biff's hairs repeatedly, as if exploring the texture. Biff felt a bit like he was some furry animal Mrs. Jamali couldn't keep her hands off.

She nuzzled against his ear, and Biff felt her lips tickle it when she whispered, "Do you want me to show you?"

Biff meant to shake his head, but he nodded.

Mrs. Jamali kissed his ear, and when she drew back, she said, "I have longed for this moment since the first time I saw them."

She released his hairs and pushed herself up.

"Stay," she cooed. "Enjoy."

She climbed over Biff's body as before—with her ass in Biff's face. She remained there for a moment, perched on him and looking down like an eagle watching a snake in the grass. Then, Mrs. Jamali reached across her body and tugged her arms through the sleeves of her pajamas, both sides. She pushed the loosened top down to her waist.

Biff gazed at the dangling end of her long, raven ponytail. He took in the smooth skin and musculature of her naked back. He saw how her figure narrowed toward her waist before the curves swept out for her hips.

Slowly, she let her torso down until her full body weight was on his. He felt her uncovered breasts squash into his lower belly.

The crotch of her pajamas pulled tight. It was so very near. Biff could have traced the cleft of her labia with the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, his erection was in her grasp. Biff snatched a breath. Mrs. Jamali drew it along the center of his tummy. Then, she seemed to twist, once left and once right. When she settled, her breasts held Biff's penis in their warm, soft embrace.

Next, he felt her fingers curl under his scrotum and lift it. Her thumb rolled around one testicle, and then the other. She held one, and then Biff felt her lips give it a soft kiss.

Her fingers undulated, and the first ball fell away. The other one slid into her fingers, and she kissed that one, as well.

Another dexterous movement of her fingertips brought both testicles together, and Biff felt her warm, wet tongue glide over them once. Twice. During the third pass, he heard Mrs. Jamali moan.

After, she murmured, "Yes, I like your testicles very, very much."

Her hand cupped them together. Her fingers rolled them. One testicle made a circle against the other, and then vice-versa.

When she stopped, Biff felt her head fall between his legs. Her mouth latched onto his scrotum, and then one of his balls felt tugged against her lips until it popped into her mouth.

Biff gasped.

Mrs. Jamali moaned. Her hand fell away, and momentarily Biff felt both of Mrs. Jamali's hands snake under his legs and grip the inside of his thighs.

Then, she moved. She very slowly rocked her body over his.

Biff grunted as his cock slid back and forth between Mrs. Jamali's breasts.

After this, Biff felt the ball drop from her lips. Her face again sank between his legs, and the other testicle was drawn into her mouth. Her tongue stroked it. Her lips clasped and held it, and her mouth sucked gently as someone might draw the nectar from a soft fruit pit.

Her body, again, rocked, sliding along his own.

Staring at the big ass in his face, Biff decided he wanted it. He clutched the two globes, and as they moved toward him, he pinched at her labia with his lips. The next time, he drove his tongue at it.

Mrs. Jamali felt his tongue. She uttered an open-mouthed moan, letting the testicle drool from her lips. Biff felt her bend down and scoop the other one with her tongue, drawing it into her mouth.

She slid back and forth. Biff's penis rode through her cleavage.

There were too many incredible sensations, and Biff gave up. His head sank back into the comforter, and he kept his firm grip on her butt just to have something to hold onto through it all.

"Mrs.—Mrs. Jamali," he gasped. She moaned deeply, and the vibrations from her throat traveled through her lips into Biff scrotum. His body spun out of control, and there would be no recovering.

She pushed the testicle from her mouth and said, "Let go, my hamraaz."

Biff had no idea what the word meant, but its strange sound mixed with the adoring tone in which it was uttered swept him to the precipice.

Mrs. Jamali buried her face in his scrotum, found a testicle, and nursed on it. She swayed her body along his.

Biff's fingers sank into the meaty flesh of her ass, and he came with a series of stifled grunts.

Instantly, the fluid began to lubricate where their bodies mashed together, and Mrs. Jamali moaned when she felt it.

The muscles of Biff's stomach tightened and his head came off the mattress as the final pulses diminished.

Biff released her ass, and his arms flopped onto the bed.

Mrs. Jamali stopped moving. She let his testicle fall from her lips, and spent the next minute kissing and licking his scrotum.

Biff sighed deeply, and she slid her hands free and pushed herself up. Dismounting his body, she froze with her back to him.

They both heard it—an alarm of some kind.

"The dum!" she cried, leaping from the bed and running out the door of the bedroom.

The dumb?

Biff sat up. A few seconds later, the beeping stopped.

Oh, he realized, it was a kitchen timer.

He surveyed his belly and chest. It glistened with semen. A thick gob hung on the end of his cock.

I just came on Mrs. Jamali, he thought with shock and not a little bit of fear. On her stomach. My gosh, on her tits!

Mrs. Jamali yelled, "Come down, Biff! Come look and smell! Oh!"

He scooted to the foot of the bed, considered putting something on—the towel, maybe—and decided against it. Maybe, he thought, she doesn't want cum on her towel. He went downstairs totally naked.

She stood behind the counter looking down at an iron skillet with some kind of pie-like pastry in it. "It is not overcooked," she said. Then, she glanced back at him, "You have excellent timing as a lover."