Type, type, type Pt. 01

During the remaining time typing, I noticed a slight sourness to the air, like the ocean. I realized this was the legendary scent of...pussy.

Strangely, Mom put on the halter dress in the bathroom when we were done and it was time for my punishment. She did skip the shirt, and her bare back and arms were beautiful also. Her 'medical' massage in my rectum was faster and harder than ever but felt great. It took only about ten strokes of her lubed fingers in my hole for me to shoot an incredibly great feeling, giant, messy load all over, my cock flexing wildly while she watched big puddles form on the floor.

Sunday after Mass she changed into jeans and a white Tennis shirt with a little alligator on the front. Soon after we started, she had me unhook and remove her bra from the back after she slipped both shoulder straps off inside the shirt. My cock was rock hard as usual. As the shirt actually belonged to my sisters, it was a size too small for Mom. Her titties were compressed a bit but beautiful and her nipples still pushed out to peaks and the fabric revealed her tan lines a bit.

At the end of the day, she surprised me by going straight to the handjob after my ritual spanking. She faced me, standing close, smiling as her titties bounced nicely. "I can't believe I wore such a skimpy two- piece," Mom said about their backyard sunbathing, "I bought it in New York, you haven't seen it." She then shocked me by using her free hand to tug upward on the shirt a little, teasing me with tummy and even a little pale side and underboob, which contrasted with her tanned torso as she kept stroking away on my dick. I was looking at the pale skin on her hip where she expanded her panty waistband and slid it down a bit when I shot my sperm all over. Some of my fluid landed on her bare thigh, which was intentional I think as she had control of my cock at the time and was standing sort of in front of me. I pretended not to notice but I couldn't help but wonder what was next.

10

I got my answer about what was next very soon. Things changed forever that Sunday night. I was watching TV late in my room and the static began. It only lasted a few minutes or so and the clicks slowed and then stopped. It was Mom's vibrator time, but it sounded like her batteries were dead. Poor Mom. She just wanted to get off after her weekend of teasing me with her new tan lines and then whipping me with her belt because of my 'unhealthy attraction'.

Moments later I heard Mom quietly ransacking the kitchen junk drawer where we kept the batteries. I knew there were none. The noise grew louder and thought I would go pull the batteries for her from the big flashlight we kept in the car glovebox.

I stepped into the kitchen, which was lit only by the small range hood stove light, which we always left on.

Mom was standing there wearing only an unbuttoned mint green pajama top, which she was holding closed across her torso since realizing I was in the kitchen. "Benji, I'm not dressed. Go back to bed. I'm sorry I woke you," she called out in her serious voice, the one I had heard almost constantly since her marriage problems started." Standing next to the stove, Mom bent her knees and held the thin top down in front to cover her crotch. The dim bulb lit her squirming curves in shadow, a stunning sight. I decided not to go to find more batteries for her after all.

Truthfully, I had missed the feeling I had back when misbehaving, driving the stolen car, the danger, as it was. The thrill had returned when looking into the unbuttoned open shirt, up her dress back at the office when she didn't realize it, and listening to her orgasm under the door.

Now that thrill was back with the arrival of my next deranged, impulsive thought.

"You don't need the batteries, Mom."

"I said go back to your room, young man!"

Dressed only in my boxers, I approached my nearly naked mother. We were face to face. Her angry blue eyes glowed in the dim light. My dick was growing rapidly.

"Ben-ji!" She said through her teeth, a threatening growl on the second syllable. She raised a palm to smack me with, I assumed, just as I dropped to my knees and clutched her thighs, pressing her butt against the oven door. Those thighs were smooth and soft. All I could smell was the sultry, rich aroma of her pussy.

The pajama top didn't really cover her pelvis with her arms raised to hit me. I took in the view of her 'hip hugger' bikini tan lines that kind of matched where her panties normally would be and the mass of her brown pubes. Mom began yelling 'No' repeatedly and violently began scratching and punching my head, shoulders and back. She landed several blows and then I heard her reaching behind her for something heavy to bludgeon me with, I'd bet. She was also trying to pull away but after a brief tussle I ended up sitting between her legs, locking her thighs in the crook of each arm, surprising myself at my aggression.

As a virgin, I of course had never touched a woman anywhere. Mimicking what I had seen on the XXX theater screens, I shoved my tongue in between the stubby pink fairy wings that were partially hidden by her pubes. Heated, slick and salty, I began to lick forcefully, moving my whole head. Her thick nest of damp hair tickled my nose.

From above I heard Mom suddenly cry out, several variations of my name and repetitions of the word 'oh', breathy and high-pitched. The saucepan clattered on the floor as she let go of it and brought her hand to my head, now held tightly in place by both her palms. I couldn't believe what I was doing, especially to my own mother. I had been teased as a 'Mama's boy' before, I guess they were right, I thought as I joyfully licked away, hoping I was doing something right to give her pleasure.

Mom's breaths became fast, loud and grunting as her hips began to move slightly, grinding her pelvis into my face, her fingers gripping my hair. In between her moans and gasps, she mumbled prayers. My Latin has always been poor, but I think she was asking for absolution.

After only a few minutes of me licking my Mom's pussy, her legs began to tremble and she convulsed and jolted. Clear liquid, which I did not expect, flowed from her slit like a faucet as she screamed out several times, seemingly cheering in a stadium at a sports event. She was way louder than with the vibrator, although in her bed she may have held her volume down so I wouldn't hear all the way in my room. It was nice to think I helped her orgasm so intensely.

After the sports cheers ended, she stood, breathing heavily, remaining in the same hunched forward stance, dripping with sweat. This was the first time I realized the pajama top was wide open, and my first view of her exposed nipples in the dim light was from beneath. Perched atop her pale globes, they were beautiful, conical, bumpy and the ends like fingertips projecting as they shook with the rapid expansion and exhalation of her torso. My cock was rock hard down a leg of my boxers.

Unsure if she wanted more, I hugged and caressed her thigh, waiting for her to catch her breath. My tongue, lips, chin, and chest were coated with her tangy, salty juices, now cooling. The air was thick with the scent.

Mom straightened up and I released my grip on her thigh.

Standing with the pajamas open, she gestured an angry, titty shaking, palms raised, 'shutup' motion with both hands pressing an invisible wall before I could try to apologize. She didn't cover herself as she turned away and stomped back to her room. I hadn't seen her bare ass before, and it was beautiful also, jiggling crazily in the dim rectangle of light that filtered into the hall from my ajar bedroom door.

"That's it, Benji!" she yelled out. "No more!" Her door slammed and stayed shut this time.

So, things went back to the way they were before the unbuttoned shirt incident. Normal grouchy Mom and normal goofy son on probation. Our conversations were polite but tense. I didn't hold a grudge, though, as how many guys who fantasized about their mom were lucky enough to see her braless for hours, catch her almost naked in the dark and got to lick her pussy, even if just once?

I soon learned Mom couldn't handle her liquor very well. The week after the kitchen incident I got a call on Friday night to come collect her and take her home. Mom rarely went out, but her medical office staff had met for dinner, and she had a few 'too many' drinks and had cursed out a waiter. I would have loved to have seen that, I thought as I arrived. Their table was easy to spot, a half dozen women in white uniforms.

To be continued...