Viral Sensation

"Good, now go on back up," she turned around. Jack was standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms hanging loosely by his sides, eyes lidded and heavy. Daphne's hand rose involuntarily to her mouth, covering a sharp intake of breath. Her son was shirtless, revealing a pale-but-sculpted torso that looked as if it had stepped off a pedestal in a Roman plaza. The lean, but muscled plates of his pecs shadowed a tight plank of laddered abdominals that led down into the sharp delta beginning beneath his navel. Low-slung flannel pajama pants were his only concession to modesty, and these hung loosely below his hips, more than low enough to let his mother's gaze follow the channels beneath them to their terminus somewhere under the fabric draped dramatically in a huge tent that bobbed gently as he swayed on his feet.

Daphne knew she should be mad. She knew she should be *furious*. But she couldn't stop staring at Jack; somehow, her skinny, bookish, homebody son had developed a body that could have been laid out in a Cosmo centrefold or graced a GQ cover. Idly, one of his free hands began to toy with the pole jutting from his crotch. As she watched, a dark spot blossomed at the tip of the pole, staining the fabric dark blue.

"Jack!" She clapped her hands, once. "Wake up!" She clapped again. He seemed to come to his senses, momentarily. Blinking slowly, shaking his head, he regarded his mother.

"Wha? What?" He asked, hand falling to his side again.

"Go upstairs." Daphne pointed. "I'll bring you tea."

"Yeah," Jack said, staring at her. His eyes lingered for a long moment on her chest. "You're real pretty, mom. You know that?"

"Yes, dear. Thank you, dear." She took a few steps forward, then grabbed his shoulders; his skin was so warm, smooth, firm under her fingers. With a shove, she twirled her son around, pointing him at the stairs. "Go to room. I'll be up. Bring tea." Daphne gave him a not-so-gentle push, and he stumbled away. Even from behind, his upper body was a rippling delta of sculpted muscle, coated in a light sheen of sweat. She didn't realize how intently she'd been watching him until he turned the corner and she was left wondering what she'd been going to do next.

On the kitchen counter, her phone chimed as another email came in. Beyond it, steam curled out of the mouth of the kettle. Daphne clucked her tongue.

10 minutes later, she was climbing the stairs bearing a tray laden with a steaming mug of chamomile tea; beside it was a plate, with a couple of artfully arranged pieces of toast, glistening with butter. She dusted the toast with a sprinkling of cinnamon sugar, Jack's childhood favorite, though she realized she had no idea if that was still the case. Daphne couldn't even remember the last time she had a conversation with her son, except to encourage him to do or discourage him from shirking schoolwork.

Balancing the tray on one hand like a waitress, she gave his door a tentative knock. Why was she so nervous?

There was no answer, but a murmur and music could be heard beyond the science cat. She tried the knob. It turned easily in her hand.

Inside, Jack was seated at his desk, watching something at this laptop. He was still shirtless, and Daphne stopped mid-pace to scan his smooth, powerful-looking torso. The room was still rank and steamy with musk; sweat broke out on her brow.

"Jack," she said in a soft voice. "I brought up your tea."

He didn't respond, but a low, wet moan emanated from his desk. Daphne took another step closer, peeking around his shoulder.

On the screen, a stacked brunette was sinking down onto a massive cock, her big fake tits rolling obscenely on her chest as she gasped and filled herself up. As her hips settled into place, another cock appeared from the side of the screen, the tip of it pressing insistently against her mouth.

"Jack?" Daphne asked, cautious. She came closer. He didn't even seem to know she was there, his attention apparently riveted to the screen; in his lap, both of her son's hands were stroking the length of his cock, from base to tip, over and over again, a continuous tunnel of fingers working his shaft, millking out a steady stream of precum. The size of it was astounding, easily rivalling the prodigious shafts on his screen, the head of it appeared to have the circumference of a clementine; it was ramrod straight, an obscene spire standing out from Jack's crotch, delicate blue veins tracing along the length of it. Daphne's mouth worked, but no words came.

It was perfect, the kind of cock she'd always fantasized about in the depths of the night when it was just her and her vibrator, like some magical sculptor had whittled it straight out of her dreams.

Suddenly, his pace changed, and he started pumping just under the head with his left hand in short, sharp strokes while the other polished his weeping knob. Jack grunted, then whimpered, in obvious discomfort as he worked his needy young cock with a will, obviously trying hard to bring himself off in short order, but somehow unable to get over the finish line.

"Jack?" She said, again, and laid a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped up, turning to regard her. As his eyes locked on hers, the weeping slit of his cockhead dilated once, twice, then vomited out a thick plume of gelid cream that splashed across his bare shoulder and her knuckles. It was scalding hot, but Daphne was held in place as three more strong spurts of the stuff erupted forth from her son's cock, splattering out across his bare chest and stomach, rivulets of it oozing down through the channels left by his new musculature.

"Mom!" He grunted as successive spurts of thick, pearlescent cum splashed against his skin. "'Mom! Mom! Mom!" Cum dribbled out over his thumb. "Mom?" Daphne watched a loop of cum quiver on the setting of her engagement ring. "Mom? Oh god, Mom! I'm so sorry!" Now he was looking, really looking at her.

"Don't be sorry!" Daphne said, taking a step back, letting her hand reluctantly slip from his shoulder. "It was my fault, surely! I was just bringing up that tea, and I should have knocked louder, and then-" she gestured with her free hand, then grabbed the tray and presented it, putting it between them as her son slowly got to his feet. All she could smell was the bleachy musk of his semen.

"God, I just- I came everywhere and, it's so hard to think, Mom." He brushed at his stomach, absently, smearing a streak of semen across his skin. Between his legs, his cock hadn't flagged a fraction of an inch, if at all, and a final bead of cream welled up at the tip. Jack swayed dangerously on his feet.

"Here," she said, suddenly, and laid the tray down on the floor. "Get back to bed," her hand rested gently against his cum-slick stomach, the other at the small of his back as she guided him towards his bed. Her fingers moved in tiny circles of their own accord, massaging his sticky, warm flesh.

Jack sat on the mattress, cock bobbing. His torso gleamed with spent semen.

"Let's...let's get you cleaned up." Dropping to one knee, Daphne snatched up yesterday's shirt from where he'd discarded it on the floor, and started dabbing at the rapidly-melting goo on her son's left pectoral muscle. She took her time sopping it up before moving to the splatter across his abdominals. His cock quivered as he watched her with apparent disinterest.

"You're really pretty, mom." He said in a quiet voice. "All my friends say so, but not to my face." Daphne's hand stopped. "They're all jealous that my mom is so hot. Bitchy and hot. They say-"

"Jack, I don't think you-" The bead of cum at the tip of his prick welled up and out of the pissslit, slowly oozing down the shaft.

"-that you're a cougar mom not a tiger mom. Is that right? It's so hard to- to think." His brow furrowed. "Dave says that you've got a world class ass, that he'd give his left nut to touch it, but I touched it, I felt it. It felt good, mom." Daphne licked her lips, watching the rivlulet of semen running down the thick pipe underscoring his enormous cock. "Can- can I touch it again?"

"That's not a good idea, Jack." Daphne said, voice quavering. That wayward bead of cum ran straight down to his sac, where it nested in his pubic hair. On impulse, she reached down with the shirt and dabbed at it, prompting a low moan from her son.

"Mom," he began, letting his thighs drift apart. That movement broke whatever spell Daphne was under and she rocketed straight to her feet, unsteady on suddenly watery knees.

"Here," she said, turning to grab the tray. He moaned again, and she looked over her shoulder to see him staring directly at her behind, saran wrapped in her yoga pants. She stayed there for a long moment. Jack reached for his still-saluting cock.

Downstairs, the front door slammed.

"Hellooo? Honey, I'm hooome." Charles shouted as he strolled into the living room. Casting about, the 60 year-old ad exec tossed his coat onto one of the couches. "Daphne? Jack? Hello?"

Feet thudded down the stairs, and his wife appeared, face flushed. She was holding a wad of grey fabric in a fist, while slurping on the ring finger of her left hand. Daphne pulled that finger out of her mouth, licked her lips, then stood on her tiptoes to give husband a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. He could smell...something, but she danced away too fast for him to identify it.

"You're home early. Something up?" He asked, as she stuck her knuckles back into her mouth.

Daphne shook her head, then:

"Jack's sick. I drove him home from the University, and stuck around to look after him."

"Slow day at the office? I thought I heard something about a bug going around?" Charles raised an eyebrow. "What's on your hand?"

"Yeah," she said, shrugging. "Nothing going on at work. Just some kind of mild cold bug. There's some- some butter on my hand: I got Jack some toast, to help settle his stomach."

"Well look at you, Florence Nightingale." Charles laughed, and laid his briefcase down on a nearby table. "When was the last time you did that?"

Daphne's face darkened as she frowned at him.

"He's our son. I don't mind looking after him. That's a mother's job, after all." She turned to go. "I'm going to go throw his shirt in the laundry." With that, she stalked off.

If Charles saw her smelling their son's discarded shirt, he didn't say anything about it.

--

The following morning found Charles and his wife on opposite ends of the kitchen, variously drinking coffee and checking their emails and catching up on the news. Daphne gave her husband a chilly side eye as she pretended to read the latest slew of CDC reports that had blown up her phone overnight. Charles, for his part, sipped on his coffee, just as oblivious to her displeasure as he'd been to her sexual advances the evening before.

The chunky heel of one of Daphne's black ankle boots tapped impatiently against the kitchen tile as she thumbed through the idiotic parroting, head nodding and naysaying on the part of Ted, the board, and apparently every numbskull at the hospital. The silence was heavy, pregnant. Shooting him a look, she opened up her mouth to tell him off and-

"Good morning, sunshine!" Her husband said heartily. "How are you feeling?"

Jack appeared at the doorway, stepping down from the stairwell. "Better. Hungry." He padded into the kitchen, still wearing nothing but the pajama bottoms he'd been sporting the night before. He scratched lightly at his stomach as he investigated the fridge, and Daphne watched the fabric of his pants pull tight around his buttocks as he leaned in. Underneath her suit jacket and creamy silk blouse, her nipples crinkled up.

"Going to school today?" Charles asked, barely looking up from his paper.

"Nah," Jack said from the depths of the fridge as bottles clinked. "Don't feel like it."

"Excuse me?" Daphne's nostrils flared. "Young man, we do *not* pay an arm and a leg each semester just so you can-"

"Jesus Christ," Charles said. "Give the kid a break, will you? You're the one who said he was puking his guts up yesterday." She took a deep breath, preparing a tirade in response. Her husband checked his watch. "Shit, I'm late. See you guys tonight!" With that, he was on his way out of the kitchen.

The door slammed shut.

"Fucker!" Daphne shouted after him as she regained herself. "Useless, limp dicked old fucker!"

"Mom?" Jack stood up, holding an apple in one hand. "What's wrong?"

"Your father is what's wrong," she said, wheeling about to face her son. Her hair was down this morning, a halo of loose brown curls that whipped around as she turned. Daphne crossed her arms under her breasts, forcing the lapels of her suit jacket outward and exposing a deep cleft between them. Jack's eyes fell into it of their own accord. "As for you, young man-"

"Aw, mom," he started to complain. She took a step forward and jabbed him in the left pectoral with a sharp fingernail. His nipple was the same shade of brown as hers. Her fingertip made tiny circles on his skin. It was warm but not feverish, and very smooth.

"You," she said again. "You will go back up to your room immediately and get dressed, for starters. We do not lounge around the house half naked here." Her fingernail started tracing lazy loops across his firm flesh. "And take a shower. I can smell you from here." Daphne's nostrils flared as his thoroughly male, musky odour filtered through her nose. "And- and if you *are* feeling better, then I'll drop you off at the university my own damn self, since you seem inclined to goof off."

"It's just one day," he said, as Daphne stared at her own finger, then let her eyes trail downward. "Plus it's still hard to- to think? Maybe I'm still sick?"

"I don't care," she replied. "I've already got one useless man in this house. I intend to see to it that I don't have two." There was a stirring in Jack's pants. Her fingernail traced downwards an inch or two, as if reluctant to part from him. "So go and get...get cleaned up." She scratched lightly at him, between his pecs. "And I'll take you- take you to school." A tent began to arise in his pyjamas.

"Yeah," Jack bit into the apple with a crisp snap. Juice dribbled down his chin. "You look real good today, mom." Daphne actually *blushed*, something she hadn't done since childhood.

"It's just a pantsuit," she said, taking a step back. "Do you really think so?" Daphne unbuttoned her abbreviated blazer. The silky white blouse underneath exposed a significant wedge of her chest and deep cleavage. Her blouse was tucked loosely into a pair of slim-legged black pants stretched tightly across her thickly-muscled legs. She turned to the side, and Jack's gaze raked over the profile of her squat-rounded buttocks. She didn't really realize she was posing for him til his right hand wrapped around his pole through his pants while he munched on his apple.

"Yeah," he said between bites, massaging his cock to full erection. "You look real good Mom."

"Jack," she said. "Stop that right now." He didn't say anything. They stood there a moment, watching each other. "I said stop it, young man. Stop touching yourself like that!" He just looked at her with lidded eyes.

"I said," she stepped forward, hair flying about her head and looking for all the world like a furious Valkyrie. "Stop." Daphne reached out. "Touching." Her hand brushed his. "Yoursel-"

Jack's hand slipped away a fraction of a second before she could grab it, and Daphne's fist was suddenly full of her son's cock. She could feel this blood pounding through the soft flannel, his shaft hard as an iron bar and too thick for her fingers to meet on the other side. The smell was more intense now, filling up the air between them with a thick heat.

"Jack," she said softly, "you can't- you shouldn't look at me like that. You shouldn't touch yourself in front of me. You definitely shouldn't be so *hard*," her fingers squeezed his cock. Daphne had never felt anything quite like it, living steel pulsing gently in her fist.

"Sorry," he said. "I can't help it. I don't know what's wrong with me. Ever since yesterday, I can't stop thinking about you."

"Well it has to stop." Daphne's fingers flexed.

"I can't. I can't make it go down," Jack said. "I tried so hard yesterday, mom, but I can't make it go down." He grimaced. "I woke up this morning and it was soft, but there's so much mess in my sheets... And the dreams were just..."

"Young man," Daphne said, somewhat breathlessly. "This cannot go on." She moved her fist, and the waistband of his pants gapped momentarily. Hot air brushed her face and she could smell it now, rising up from his cock like steam, the aroma of his cum and precum and musk. Before she knew what was happening, Daphne was hooking her fingers in the elastic and drawing it downwards. His pole flicked sharply like a diving board as it snapped past the tip, flinging a slug of precum upward to splash on her sternum. "I'm just- I'm going to help you. This *one time*." Now she was dropping to her knees, head enveloped in a cloud of his heady aroma, staring at the satsuma-sized tip of his cock.

"Do not," she said, staring her son's dick in the eye, "tell your father about this." At the mention of Charles, a thick dollop of cocklube bubbled out of the weeping slit.

If Jack had a response, it was lost in the long shuddering gasp that escaped him as his mother lifted up his weighty cock and gently kissed the underside of his glans, her generous lips massaging the sensitive flesh in a way that made him have to grip a nearby countertop to keep steady. Daphne noisily kissed and suckled at the greasy tip of his cock; there was no way, she knew, that more than a few inches of his mammoth member would fit inside her mouth without dislocating her jaw, but that wouldn't stop her from sensually making out with throbbing purple helmet.

The smell, the taste of him provoked a hunger and a salivary response in her that would have made Pavlov proud. Soon, rivulets of drool were speeding their way down his shaft, occasionally cobwebbing out and splattering on the floor. With a snarl, Daphne let his cock pop out of her mouth momentarily to lap up the errant liquid, pregnant with Jack's flavour; she slurped from balls to tip, then began working her lips around the flare again. Her hands locked around the shaft and began to stroke it, milking his precum out into her waiting mouth. Her lips suctioned out as she pulled back briefly to give herself some swallowing space, and then Jack's hands were in her hair, pushing her back downwards again.

"Mom," he grunted. "Mom, fuck. Fuck that's so good." Jack stared down at her, working so diligently at his thick youthful meat, all her attention focused on pleasing his pole. Her elegant fingers, wrapped so tightly across his girth, shuttled up and down the increasingly-slippery shaft, making obscene *schluck*ing sounds.

Daphne's eyes met his. Her rings glinted in the morning sunlight as her hands flashed up and down his cock.

"I don't know if I can hold- oh fuck! Oh Mom!" His mother's eyes went wide as Jack grunted and trembled and suddenly she started making desperate choking noises; she pulled off his cock, mouth wide open, and a thick streamer of cum and saliva followed in a short-lived arc that snapped and splattered across her chin and sternum and blouse. Daphne coughed and tried to speak as the cum dribbled from her plush lower lip, but was interrupted by another plume of semen that splattered across her features.

"Jack!" She spluttered. He took over jerking his fat dick, pumping out another half dozen strong spurts of semen, trying to aim away from her face and succeeding only in hosing down her chest. The yellowy goop stained and soaked through the shimmery silky fabric of his mother's blouse, revealing the strained fabric of the no-nonsense nude bra underneath.