'Vaccinating' His Mom

"Uh. Stunning. Exquisite. Astonishingly pretty."

The smile broadened. "Sexy?"

"If you were anyone other than my mother, definitely. Yes. Sexy."

"Really?" Her voice pitched higher. "Your mom is sexy? My college boy son thinks his mother is sexy?"

"Mom!"

"Sorry." Her hands held his head between them. She leaned down, pecked a quick kiss on his lips. "Sorry."

Another brief kiss, lips held tight, firmly together. Still, it surprised him.

"I should have stopped at 'beautiful,' huh? And 'gorgeous.'" She kissed him again. This time her lips stayed an instant longer, softening, melting onto his. They began to open.

His hands acted on their own, gripping her waist tighter, about to pull her against him. She felt it, reacted, pushing herself back, then she was on her feet. "I'm sorry, Michael. That was bad. I don't know what got into me. Can you forgive me?"

He was confused, conflicted, unsure of his own reactions. "Mom, there's nothing to forgive. You were...we were just..."

"...Too drunk and stoned." She cut him off. The words came out rapid-fire. She moved at the same pace, backing away, her hands finding the latch that unlocked her bed, allowed it to ease down to a horizontal position. "There's a reason I don't smoke...I get a little crazy sometimes. I think I should just lie down for a little bit until this wear off. We can just forget this ever happened."

She crawled onto the bed, curling into a near-fetal position. She looked pained. "Okay?"

It came out as a desperate, nervous plea.

"Sure, Mom. Okay. But it's all alright. You just rest, sleep it off." His heart was pounding, emotions, urges, feeling swirling in a confused maelstrom inside him. "I love you, Mom."

She gave him a tiny smile and rolled onto her other side, facing away from him. "I love you too, sweet man."

"More than anything." He added the last to her back, his gaze slipping to her exposed bottom facing him, panties again bunched up into the narrow crevice between her cheeks.

"More than anything." She repeated his words. He thought he could hear a sliver of a smile in her voice, satisfied. He drew in a deep breath, trying to understand what exactly had happened.

The third kiss had definitely been different. He was sure he had felt her softened lips beginning to open, an invitation to more. More what though? Had she really asked him if she was sexy? Had he really admitted that she was?

It was true, though: she was sexy as hell. He could hear her breaths already evening out, slowing. Yes, she was sexy as hell and the view she was even now giving him of her ass was a fantasy come true.

He drank in the view, not looking away for once. Her ass. Not her bottom or her backside. His mother's gorgeous, sexy ass. It felt good, a relief, to call it that, even to himself. His hand dropped to his lap.

Barely, with heroic effort, he held in the gasp that forced his mouth wide in surprise. He was hard. Achingly hard. He allowed his fingers to trace his length through his shorts, his eyes still on his mother's sexy ass.

Her nipples, her breasts - No! Her tits - on display inches from his eyes and lips.

Her - Pussy! - displayed before that, right at eye level, hidden only by thin little panties.

Her lips slipping open, to soft, so welcoming, an instant from her tongue slipping out to meet his.

Jesus! He grabbed his straining, rigid shaft through the fabric, tugging at his length. He was so fucking horny, so fucking turned on, so fucking attracted to his sexy, sexy mom. His mom that was so close, so near, so on display for him right now.

He tugged again at himself, then stopped. His heart was still racing, his breaths an effort to control. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. He blew out a long, slow exhale.

Sitting up, he reached for the bowl on the small table by the couch, for the remains of the joint and the lighter. Based on her reaction, he didn't think his mom would want to smoke more any time soon. Maybe it would calm him down.

He lit the end, inhaled, blew the smoke upward to swirl above him. Again. He tossed the darkened little roach that remained back into the bowl and again looked upward, trying to concentrate on the traces of smoke. A hand came down, a fist, about to pound the couch in frustration. He stopped it, fearing he would disturb his mother.

Her breaths were definitely slowed now, the rhythm of sleep. The fist opened, settled instead on his lap. Another gasp almost escaped. He was still so fucking hard. Maybe it was the pot, but the decision seemed clear.

She was passed out. He was a wreck after three plus days without being able to cum, teasing himself with the impossible, lustful thoughts he had of his mom. His sexy, gorgeous, beautiful mom. Asleep now, right in front of him, and displaying the most amazing ass he had ever seen.

Carefully, quietly, he eased his fly open. He pushed his shorts down only far enough to allow his erection to spring free. He needed release. He needed it bad and he needed it now. He wasn't sure if the extra hits of pot were calming him down or making him more nervous. Probably both. He knew his thoughts were whirling, but that had started before the second couple tokes.

He slid down on the couch, inched his pants lower, enough that he could stroke himself, pumping his hand over hot, hard, steel-stiff flesh. He froze when his mother moved.

On her side, her lower leg stretched out, straightening. The upper one stayed bent, tucked close. God. He could see a puffed little mounding of flesh exposed between her thighs, barely covered by the bunched-up panties. His hand pumped, up, down, up. Already, a slickness was forming, flowing over the swollen, tender underside of his bulbous head. He could feel it under his index finger at the top of each stroke.

Part of his mind told him how wrong this was. He had never even considered doing anything like this, beating off to the presence of a passed out girl or woman, let alone his mother.

All of his body joined the rest of his mind, though, and told him how right this was. He had never been this turned on, his innards screaming for his hand to stroke, pump, pound himself to climax, knowing how little concentrated effort it would take. All her accidental, unintended teasing had built up so much pressure, a flood barely contained.

Unintended? Accidental? Was it? Each day she had worn less and less, flaunting her body in front of him. Flashing peeks down her tops, snuggling so intimately close on the couch.

He was stoned; that had to be it. She was his mother. She had always gone braless. He was the one gawking, perving, searching out sneaking glimpses of the tiniest bits of exposed breast. He was the one who had checked out her ass in the mirror the minute he arrived.

Her ass. It moved again. He held his breath, hoping he could cover himself with the tail of his shirt if she suddenly rolled over. Instead, she arched her back, pushing that glorious ass out and up, toward him. He thought he heard the softest of sighing mumbles, sleepy and wordless.

He saw a vision of his hands tugging those panties down, after he'd eased the fabric out of its current, crumpled crease. She would be completely exposed, open to him, ready and welcoming. He could slip one knee into the space between her thighs, straddling her outstretched leg...

Straddling her leg like she had straddled him minutes ago. She had brought her tempting, teasing nipples so close in front of his eyes and lips. His hands had been on her waist, touching the hem of her thin shirt. He could have tugged it upward, encouraging her to lift her arms overhead, to slip the silky, slinky top up, off of her, to throw it to the floor, freeing her perfect breasts.

He could have hefted their firm, heavy softness with each hand, circling fingers over the raised, darker nipples, before he brought his mouth to one, letting his lips seize it, kiss it, suck it in to meet his flicking, licking, pleasing tongue. The tongue he had imagined - No! More than imagined, he felt sure - for one magic instant, that her own tongue would slip outward to find his own, after her sweet lips had parted, opening, soft and hungry, pressed.

It wasn't all his imagination, or the pot. She had kissed him, three times. The third time had really been...different. Not the way a mother kissed her son. He was sure of that at least. The way she had reacted, pulling back, she felt it too. Yes, but she had pulled back. She had stopped whatever had begun to, almost, start to be...something.

He pursed his lips, moistened them with his tongue, rubbed them lightly against each other. He could almost taste her, taste that hint of a deeper kiss, that start of a promise of magic to come, stopped to soon. He imagined the kiss that wasn't, that could have been. With her top off, his arms around her, confidently crushing her close. Her tongue finding his. Their lips beginning a hungry, long-anticipated dance, losing contact with each other only enough to let small, desperate sounds escape.

His lower body twitched, hips bucking. He felt more wetness under his fingers, a single outflow of thick, lubricating fluid. His hand circled, no longer pumping, instead spreading the slickness over the entire head. The pad of his thumb slipped over the slit at his very tip. His breath caught, his eyes starting to roll upward. He barely caught, contained, the groan that threatened to escape him.

He was sure, or nearly, that he had remained silent. As if in answer, though, a thin moan reached him from the unconscious form on the bed. It repeated, deeper, throatier. Then she moved.

An arm rose, flopping up, over. Her body followed, twisting until her back was down on the bed, her front facing the ceiling. Her head turned further, eyes, mouth, nose rolling toward him. He was too slow to react, too lost in his own arousal, nowhere near ready to execute his escape plan: grabbing his shirt and covering his sin.

But her eyes were closed, unseeing, her face serene.

Her legs were open, spread apart, the puffy, cotton-covered bulge and its central cleft an offering on display. The cleft held a shadow, a darkness that could be a trick of the light, or a hint of her own moistening fluids beginning their own slickening flow.

The shirt had not quite made the twisting journey with her torso. One side stretched tight over a breast, pushed outward, upward almost sharply by one nipple. The other side had failed its purpose, leaving a round, soft handful completely exposed and naked. The rose-pink-tan-brown nipple rose from its bare peak, stunningly, beautifully perfect.

His mouth hung open in silent panting awe.

His mind no longer whirled. It was seized up, petrified, locked in a timeless stillness.

His hand needed no command though, nor did his groin and hips. One spread the slickness down. The other thrust upward to meet the increased sensation. If he had been tender before, nerve endings frayed and vibrating with reptile-brain tension, this was a whole new level. His balls were snugged tight, springs wound and ready to unload.

One long slow pump, one pass of encircling fingers spreading the copious bounty of his fresh-leaked seed over his shaft, and one equal, opposite thrust upward of his pelvis pushed him inexorably over the edge.

This groan did escape him. His backed arched, his hips rising from the couch. His eyes dimmed. The first thick pulsing release surged up, to arc in a high silver white stream that striped over his stomach, over his bunched-up shirt, still higher to splash wet and hot to one side of his throat.

The second stream was in the air when he heard hear voice, thick but clear.

"Yes!" Her eyes were wide, wild, smile hungry and almost predatory.

Back arched off the couch, hips continuing their shuddering thrusts, his hand froze in panic, caught. But it didn't matter: he had pushed his body past its point of release. No more stimulation was needed. He was in the madness-tinged throes of the strongest orgasm of his life. The moan that escaped him now was forlorn, helpless.

His body still came, releasing pent up lust, while the object of his desire, his loving lively mother, watched.

His free hand, that had unconsciously gripped at the couch's cushion, now scrabbled for his shirt, to hide at least a fraction of his shame, however late. As if it could hide his still pumping erection, or the furthest-flung blob of the second release, which landed higher yet than the first, draping over the line of his jaw, painting his cheek with his own cum.

"Don't you dare!" Only a parent could wield such command. His hand stopped.

A third stream did not, could not stop though.

Even as his mother scrambled - so fast, so fluid, like a predatory cat - off the bed, the stream arced its inexorable course. She was on her knees, at his feet, mouth open and eyes blazing, wider than he had ever seen them.

"Yes!" She hissed. "Finally! Cum fie me, baby. Give Mama what she needs."

She leaned forward, tongue lolling out, toward his exposed, striped stomach. Her cheek brushed the cum-covered head protruding above his hand.

"Ahhh!" So sensitized, the nerves reacted to her unexpected touch, he sudden, eager closeness. His hips jerked, sending yet another stream into the air, the head smearing a shining line up her cheek.

"So good. So much!"

Then her tongue was on him, licking. Lips joined in a slow, sensual slurp, sucking in his seed from on his shuddering stomach.

"Oh god, Mom!"

"Yes, baby." She tilted her face up to look at him, her lips shiny, matching the stripe on her cheek. "This is what I wanted. this is what I needed."

Her head leaned against his hand and his stiff, tingling shaft, rubbing like a cat forcing a hand to pet it. Her smile was radiant, marching the glow of her bright, bright eyes. "I knew you'd bring me the special vaccine I craved."

Vaccine? The whirling was back, keeping him from any concerted attempt at logic or thought.

She bent, dragged her tongue through the thick mess pooling on his skin below his shirt. He could only moan, staring, jaw hanging limply open.

Her next smile was clever, self-satisfied. "I just wasn't sure what the delivery method would be, considering this is such a cutting-edge, experimental treatment."

Delivery method?

Maybe she saw his confusion. Maybe she just went on, spinning her own tale. "It might be delivered orally."

Her lips teased a slow taste from the pool.

"Or applied like a lotion, topically." He moaned again, twitching at the touch, when she again leaned her cheek into his swollen head above his hand.

Her mouth made a small "O" as a thought occurred to her. "Yes. Topical."

Michael felt a loss, an instant of regret, when she moved away, sitting back on her heels between his legs. The shining clear war-paint striping one cheek was a wanton, blatant display of how far, how fast, this had suddenly gone in an entirely new direction.

Her eyes found, held his as her arm crossed, lowering. Fingers found the hem of her top, tugged it in a slow dance up and off her body. She tossed it aside in an unconscious mirror of his earlier fantasy.

"You like?"

Shoulders square, she sat proudly, letting him drink in the first view of bare, beautiful breast, completely exposed, absolutely flawless.

"Uh. Uh-huh." He managed a vigorous nod, his lack of communication skills earning him a grin.

A finger and thumb circled one nipple before catching it in a rolling, tugging tease. His stare was blatant, obvious. She went on. "Hmm. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Topical."

She focused on his erection, still completely stiff. Slim fingers gently eased his own larger ones from their reflective grasp. Two smaller hands wrapped around him, careful, replacing his one.

"Oh my god! Mom! I'm...uhhhh." He was as sensitive as ever, her touch almost unbearable as she eased her grip upward with a single encouraging squeeze. A milky white flow covered her knuckles. She caught it, releasing him to bring her new-found lotion closer to her eyes. He stared at her face, the rapt look as she studied this treasure.

Then her eyes rose, again finding his. She watched his mesmerized look of shock and wonder as her hands spread his fluids in a slow massage over each perfect breast, until both were coated. Both nipples required extra attention. "Yeah." She drew the word out, breathy. "Topical."

Then she was leaning forward, close, hands cupping under each full mound. Her shoulder brushed his shaft aside as drew even nearer. The touch brought in a small shudder, but it was nothing compared to the shock that came next.

"Mmm!" Her moan was deep and teasing as she pressed her chest directly into the pooled slickness coating his stomach. Side to side, circling, she massaged him with her bare breasts, coated them with his thick emissions. He could only stare, his body shaking with anxious energy as she covered them thoroughly with his still-warm 'lotion.' "So much. So slippery. So good."

Leaning back again, her chest a silver-bright shimmer. She ran a slow, long lick the length of her palm. "Mmm-Hmm. The topical application is really nice, but I can't forget the oral. Probably the more ways you give your mother her immunization the better. Huh, baby?"

He managed another nod, still dazed. He would have nodded agreement to almost anything she asked him that way.

"Maybe I should share." Wisely, considering his state, she didn't wait for him to respond. Instead she clambered up onto his lap, once more flowing with feline grace. Again, he was straddled by smooth bare legs.

But this time the tempting, wonderful breasts and nipples so close in front of him were fully exposed. Exposed, and coated with his own cum. He could see how crinkled-tight and raised her little nipples were, hard from her fingers' attentions.

"Your turn, handsome man." Cupped hands offered him twin treasures. His arms locked around her body, tugging her close. His lips seized a nipple, slurping, sucking, opening only enough for his flicking tongue to join in. He could taste his own seed, thick on her smooth skin.

His hands separated, one going up under her soft hair to cradle the back of her neck, the other sliding down over bare skin until it found a round, firm cheek.

He felt her hips moving in pace with his frantic lips. His hand snugged her closer and she responded, grinding her lower body against his. His exposed hardness pressed into the gap between her straddling thighs, against the bunched-up panties there. Only thin, damp cotton kept mother and son from crossing a final, forbidden line.

Together, they groaned. His was newly a growl, punctuated by his slurping, nipping, sucking at first her nipple, then the hallowed valley his face found between her full mounds. Hers pitched high into a whine as his devouring exploration continued, as lips found the second nipple, vacuuming as much of this new breast into his mouth before his tongue began its rapid, flicking assault.

He felt no pain when her hands fisted thick handfuls of his hair, at least until the pain of loss struck him when she forced his mouth gasping away from her, wrenching his face up to meet her down-turned one.

Two pairs of eyes searched each other for a timeless instant, wild, wide, looking for neither knew what. Then his hand on her neck pulled her head down, mother and son joined in a kiss deeper, hungrier, more passionate than either had ever imagined possible.

A barrier had come down. Lust, love, desire swirled in irresistible storm, both of them buffeted, out of control. Pinned to his cum-covered torso, her own bare one writhed in an ancient dance.

When the kiss finally broke, both drew in matching ragged breaths, desperate for air and more of each other. Her hips pushed close once more, stayed there, his rigid presence trapped against her.