A Perfect Cock Ch 02

Alice froze, staring at her son, as his orgasm overtook him. His cock was pulsing throwing his seed all up onto the wall between them, coating it in a layer of frosting so thick she almost couldn't see through it. She watched as the hand curled around that penis shook ever so slightly as wave after wave of semen came out of his cock, dripping down the glass that separated her panty-clad, braless body from his extremely naked one. His orgasm went on and on, seemingly forever, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. She stood, transfixed, by the incestuous, egregious, utterly wrong sight in front of her. She kept her eyes on his cock, not blinking once, as he came and came and came, without end. His eyes had closed, the sensation of coming too strong to ignore, almost without regard to the scenario around her.

She knew it was wrong. She should leave. She should at least look away. She should definitely not be stepping forward, watching that cock. Watching everything that came out of it. Watching it as if it were the last cock she would ever see in her life. Maybe it was the heat-laden air, heavy with mist and fog from the shower, occluding her sense of propriety and welcoming taboos that she would normally have shunned. Maybe it was simply that she still really,

really

needed to pee, and the only thing that stood between her and her destination was, well, that cock. But if was really, really being honest with herself, Alice knew that all of those were lies.

No, Alice simply couldn't stop watching her precious son, her angel, orgasm in front of her.

Slowly, the throbbing, pulsing cock started to slow down, its little eye growing tired and weary of unleashing its torrent. The hand that held it, slack before, now completely let go of its object, falling to Jacob's side. His foreskin rolled seductively back over the considerable length of his shaft, covering it slowly from her eyes. It met the ridge, the edge of his head, and paused momentarily, but the pressure was great enough to force it over the edge. It rolled over his head completely, winking out the eye that was still staring at her, one last final bit of cum oozing out of it and stringing from the heaving end of Jacob's cock, hanging down low, almost touching the dildo that still lay in the shower.

As soon as his foreskin completely covered the head of his cock, it was like something snapped back into place in Alice's brain. Something that normally controlled her desires, that kept her in check, that set her boundaries, that stopped her from acting as... in heat as she was acting right now. Her eyes darted to her son's face, where his eyes were still closed. Somehow. The mist was beginning to clear around them, the heavy air turning lighter and colder as it clung to the mirrors and the glass, slowly starting to obscure her son from her view completely. It stuck to the glass just as his semen had, starting from the bottom and slowly covering more and more of the glass until she could only see his face. His eyes cracked open, looking down at his cock and the mess that he had made. She saw the post-orgasm haze in his eyes, the same one that his father, Richard, had in his, especially after they'd done something especially naughty, like fucking completely naked in the backyard, or letting one of their multiple swinging friends join in the fun with them, or tied her up completely and fucked her raw. In many respects, his expression was a complete mirror of his fathers, as his visage almost was, just a few decades younger.

As that haze cleared from his eyes, she saw them focus on the ground below, where water was draining from the tiles, leaving the floor slippery and wet, still shining with a sheen of moisture beaded on their surfaces. He wasn't staring at the ground though, or the tiles and grout and drains. He was looking at her dildo, still in that shower, still right underneath him. She had to assume it had been the object of his arousal, the object of his imaginations, maybe even the object of his orgasm. She followed his eyes down, this time only briefly stopping to stare at his cock, still hanging there from his torso, only now starting to shrink into its post-arousal form. Still hanging from its tip was a gob of cum, of his seed, hanging by a thread attached to the tip of his cock, now obscured by his foreskin. She stared unabashedly as it slowly hung lower and lower, that thread of semen and seed growing thinner and thinner until it finally snapped, falling as if in slow motion. Down, down, closing the gap to the floor. No, not the floor. Her dildo. It hit her dildo with a faint

splat

, right on the tip of that fake cock, a thread connecting his real one to her fake one. The slight sound was the first thing she had heard since she had entered the bathroom; the first thing, that is, other than the heavy sound of Jacob breathing through his orgasm.

The sound shook her awake, shook the clouds from her eyes, clearing them even more than they had been before, when that head of his had been hidden from her eyes. His cock was starting to soften, drooping slightly now, no longer staring directly at her. She blinked, the spell broken as his orgasm finished, his cum spent. She backed up from where she had unintentionally walked forward, walked towards the wall that separated them, as if she was magnetized to his semen. Her ass hit the cold, cold counter in behind her, and with the cold came the shock of awareness. Awareness that her son would open his eyes soon, would see that she had watched him orgasm, been captivated by the cum streaming out of his cock. Had seen his cock in the first place. Alice couldn't let that happen.

She padded out of the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. It clicked shut, and she sank down on the other side, still clad only in her panties and a thin, sticky white shirt, her skin now slightly damp from the heat and moisture in the bathroom. She wasn't aroused. No, she couldn't be. She definitely wasn't. But her nipples were screwed up, sticking long and hard out of her shirt, tenting the fabric even as it stretched tightly across her breasts. Her panties betrayed her completely, soaked through completely and utterly. Betrayed the completely wrong thought that was running through her head.

She had to see it again.

--

Jacob didn't really know what the fuck had just happened.

He'd just come home and seen his bathroom, completely wrecked, when his mom had peeked over his shoulder and meekly announced that there had apparently been a leak through the walls, meaning the entire shower had to be replaced - or at least, all the important bits. He'd been relegated to using the master bathroom shower, which wasn't the worst thing in the world. His parents had gotten it remodeled just that year, while he was out of the house at college, and its shower looked way nicer than the one in his room did - had - anyways. All glass, floor to ceiling, the shower was almost a room of its own within the bathroom, spacious and large and vast. He would've chosen to live in there if he could've.

That night, he headed into the master bedroom, past his mother who sat reading another one of her romance books, and turned the corner into the master bathroom. He slipped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the intense heat drumming into his scalp and along his chest and neck, running in little rivulets down and over his body. When he turned around to keep lathering up the rest of his body, however, his foot brushed against something on the ground, a little out of the way of the shower itself, almost along the wall.

There, hidden from sight by the turn into the bathroom yet painfully obvious if you knew it was there, lay a dildo. There were only three people in the family - him, his mother, and his father. He was relatively certain he didn't own any dildos, and while he wouldn't dare to assume or judge his father's kinks, he was also relatively certain it wasn't his. Which left one person. His gorgeous, funny, loving mother. Alice.

Even out of the spray of water, the dildo was wet, meaning it wasn't water that covered it, but something else on its shining surface. Then, standing over it, Jacob noticed something. That dildo looked suspiciously like his own cock. He looked back and forth between them. It was hard to tell, being soft as he was, but he could tell that the dildo would be a little bit thinner than his cock at full mast, blood raging through his erection. He pulled his foreskin back, exposing the soft, sensitive head of his dick to the quickly warming air. The head was a different shape too, but he could definitely see the similarities. The color was almost spot on, and the veins were also incredibly similar, if slightly more pronounced on his own member than on the fake one below him. And the balls below were definitely a little smaller, hung a little bit looser, than his. Plus, obviously, they were

He got lost in his thoughts, his hand idly rubbing his cock, trailing his foreskin lightly up and down. What was a dildo doing in the shower? He wasn't a prude, and neither was his mother; he'd often come home to her sunbathing semi-naked in the backyard, albeit on her stomach. He'd seen her in her underwear before, in bikinis, wearing panties around the house. But they also weren't exactly the most open sexually. He knew his mom and dad did their thing, and he left them to it, and they left him to do his thing. Leaving a dildo out in the shower - still covered in juices - was definitely a little farther than they had ever gone, all things considered.

Weirdly, it was turning him on. It didn't help that he was rubbing his cock while thinking about very very wrong things about his mother, like how exactly she'd been using that dildo or how far it had gone up into her. Those weren't the sorts of thoughts and son should have about his mother. They were weird, nasty, insane thoughts. Perverted, Oedipean thoughts. Delicious thoughts. They were things he had never even considered thinking about before, things that were now burning holes in his mind and sending pulses straight down into his cock, now hardening rapidly in his hand. It also didn't help that the dildo displayed proudly on the ground underneath him was very, very similar to his own cock, so much so that as his inflated, it was almost as if he was seeing double. Almost, but not quite. But it did put a decidedly nastier, extremely devilish thought into his mind.

I wonder if my mother masturbated thinking about my cock?

His cock jumped at that thought, and he tightened his grip around it. Maybe she fucked herself right here, on this shower floor, imagining that it was me, her own son, on the other end of that cock. Does she orgasm faster when she thinks of me? Does she get wetter? He thought thoughts that he should never be thinking. He thought about what her pussy looked like, or what those breasts and the nipples in their center would taste like, feel like over his tongue, twisted between his fingers. He thought about what it would feel like to come inside his own mother, filling her up with her son's seed.

He closed his eyes at that last thought, bracing himself against the wall of the shower, now steadily beating his cock over and over, up and down, masturbating to his mother, to the dildo on the floor. He hadn't really touched it, not yet. The shower lay behind him, forgotten, filling the room with steam, and he casually reached back and flipped it off before continuing to stroke, over and over, his eyes closed tight, his brow furrowed at the beautifully incestuous thoughts filling his mind.

He felt himself get closer and closer to the edge of his orgasm when he heard movement in the master bedroom. His mother. Just the thought of her separated from him by some glass and the door of the bathroom had him gasping, leaning onto the glass in front of him. He was there, on the edge, teetering above his orgasm. He could feel the buildup in his balls, feel his penis grow slightly as it filled with cum. He beat faster and faster, almost willing the semen out of his body.

He heard a small gasp in front of him, and his eyes snapped open. His mother stood in the bathroom with him, staring at him, watching him beat off. It was like his imagination had willed her into existence. She stood in black panties and a tight, tight top that did nothing to hide her breasts and her apparent braless state from the way her nipples threatened to poke through. She was staring right at him. No, she was staring at his cock, watching him whip his hand back and forth across his pole. He immediately brought down his other hand to cover himself, to maintain some modicum of modesty, but it was too late.

He shut his eyes again as he came, over and over, spurting cum directly at his mother. He hadn't even meant to, but it was like the tip of his cock sought her out, wanting to cover Alice in her son's seed and arousal. The only thing that protected her was the barrier in between them, the glass wall that separated him and his perverted thoughts from his pure, innocent mother.

By the time his orgasm subsided, post-nut clarity beginning to hit his brain, his mother was gone. There was almost no sign that she had even been there in the first place, other than a slight layer of condensation where her feet had touched the tile. He wasn't sure if he had imagined what had happened - his mother in front of him, her wide eyes not on him, but very specifically on his throbbing, hard cock, watching him ejaculate. He hoped he had. This was a disconcerting, embarrassing situation to be in.

Then his senses returned to him, the wave of orgasm long past. He looked up. The glass wall in front of him was glazed in thick, heavy cum, slowly sliding down the pane. Even the dildo hadn't escaped the torrent of semen exploding from his cock. Steam was rising, covering the glass wall - or at least the parts that he hadn't covered himself. To his horny eyes, it had been the hottest thing he had ever seen. To his now non-horny eyes, it was almost assuredly a disaster. His mom - his beautiful, loving, caring mom - had caught him jerking off to her dildo. To her.

Panic set in. He started wiping down the glass frantically, impatient to leave the scene of the crime. Maybe he should have sprayed it down with cold water, thought through the whole thing. Would've been the smart move, no doubt. But Jacob wasn't thinking. He was simply acting. The thick white trails left lines in the towels, far more than he usually came. Copious amounts, really. He wasn't sure where he had stored all of it inside himself. And now, there was nowhere else to put it but on his towel. And so he did. He soaked it with his own cum, letting it grow heavy with his seed. He wiped down the glass, leaving little smears of semen here and there that he had missed and came back for. When he was sure that he had swept up as much as he did, he wrapped his towel around himself and took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to face his mother on the admittedly short path from the master bathroom through the master bedroom.

He turned the knob and stepped out of the bathroom.

His mother lay underneath the covers, tucked in like she'd never left. Her hair was all tied up into a loose bun on her head, just as it had been when she'd appeared in the bathroom like a ghost, and disappeared just as quickly. She had her reading glasses on, thick black frames with large, wide lenses that seemed to cover half her face, but somehow made it even prettier for doing so. He didn't know what she was wearing underneath those covers, beyond the duvet. Jacob was not a betting man. He'd never bet money before, not ever. Not on sports, not on horses, not even on petty, random things like how his friends were always making bets. But if he was ever going to make a bet, if he was ever going to put money down on something, he'd bet that underneath those covers, his mother wore nothing except for a thin, thin pink shirt over her voluptuous chest and flat, slightly muscled stomach. And below that, over a pert, curvy ass that was more hard muscle than fat, would lay a set of lacy, racy panties. In black. But of course, he couldn't be sure. She might not have even been in the bathroom five minutes ago. She probably wasn't, and his stupid, animalistic, horny brain had conjured up a hologram of what he had been masturbating over.

He set his eyes on the sliver of light coming in through the far door, leading to the landing and freedom beyond, and strode out into the bedroom. He strode past her head, where she smiled up at him through those glasses, making her eyes shine much more than they usually did. Past where her body disappeared into the covers, all snuggled into the bed. Down to where one of her feet peeked out of the covers, slightly exposed. Its sole was facing away from the light. Alice had always taken care of her feet and hands, made sure to go to the spa and keep them soft and warm. She was always scared of looking too old, of looking her age really. So Jacob wasn't shocked at their soft, pillowy little toes, or the gentle curve of the arch of her foot as it met the balls of her feet and flowed up to her ankle. No, what shocked him was the unmistakable glisten of fresh condensation beading on the soles of her feet. Water that could have only come from one place.

He quickened his pace and left.

--

As soon as Jacob left, Alice sat up. Her pink shirt clung to her with condensation and perspiration, sticking to her ribcage tightly and her back even tighter. The smell of musk, of sweat and sex and cum, was unmistakable in the air. Jacob had done something with the semen that he had displayed for her. What, she didn't know yet. She had suspicions, however. Most likely he'd just wiped it all up with the towel, meaning he had run out of her room in a towel soaked in his own cum. A naughtier part of her imagined him scooping up that cum and rubbing it all over his young, muscular chest and abs, down towards his cock, lubing up his penis with his own semen as he masturbated thinking of her again.

Alice shook her head and stormed into the bathroom.

The glass wall that had once been covered in cum was now almost completely clean. Almost completely spotless. Almost. In plain light, it looked normal as can be, but when she looked at the pane at an angle, she could tell that the surface was sticky, not completely cleaned the way it was when she cleaned these very same shower walls. But clean enough to deter someone who did not know better. Perhaps Jacob was simply hoping that she wouldn't notice, that maybe she had not seen him orgasm. But oh, so she had.

She thought about it as she sat down and finally, blissfully, peed. The stream left her body as she looked at the carnage of the shower, or what had been the shower. The only victims left of the crime were her dildo and a little shine on the glass wall. She'd have to wash that out soon, hope that Richard wouldn't notice. She washed her hands and then headed to her dildo to pick it up, finally disposing of the evidence - not only of Jacob's heinous crimes, but of hers as well, of what she had done with Will, the plumber from before.

She picked it up, then gasped.

There, on its tip, was a gob of cum. Untouched, uncleaned, unnoticed by Jacob, it sat, gleaming. Staring at her. It sat at the slit at the very very tip of the cock, almost as if the dildo had come instead of her son. It wasn't that far of a stretch. His penis had looked very similar to this one, but somehow better. She wasn't ready to admit it to anyone yet, not even to herself, just how much better it had looked. But it had looked better. Still, it was close enough to imagine that now, she held her son's cock in her hand instead of a fake, room temperature, silicone cock that would not breathe or pulse or cum, would not fuck the back of her throat like she needed it, would not pound her pussy and ass until she screamed. Not that those things were things her son's cock did, of course. Those were all Richard's territory, Richard and his own magnificent cock. Yes, how magnificent that cock was, just so good, so delicious...