He stifled a moan, and she knew he was fighting the orgasm, holding on to it for as long as possible, extending her handling of him for as long as he could.
"You've been a naughty boy for a long time, Ricky. You're full of hidden desires that you've hidden for years, desires you weren't supposed to have. But you have them, you nurtured them, you grew them in your mind where they took firm root and blossomed. It wasn't just mom in the morning. It was mom in the afternoon and mom at night. It was mom in the bedroom, the family room, the kitchen, the car. It was licking mom and sucking mom and using mom in every way you could imagine. How many times did you whack off in the shower hoping mom would come in and join you? How many times did you sneak mommy's panties from her bureau to stimulate yourself? You've been a bad boy, Ricky, a very naughty son."
She pulled him hard and rubbed the tip on the counter. Even through his shorts, she could tell he was ready to shoot.
"Does it feel as good as you thought it would? Does mommy do it right for you? Is this one of your wicked fantasies? Mommy jerking you off at the sink? How many times did you picture that, Ricky? How many times did you feel mommy's fingers on your erection? How many times did you pant in the dark, replaying his scene over and over like a tape inside your head? Little Ricky and mommy in the kitchen, and she does what Ricky has wanted since his first ejaculation. So naughty, so wicked, so Ricky. It's been part of your life for so long it's like a friend, isn't it. You can't go to sleep at night until you've engaged in your favorite fantasy, until you cum for mommy. That's what you want most, to show mommy how you cum, how hard and long and how much you shoot. That will make mommy want you, won't it, Ricky. If mommy feels it, she'll want it as much as you. Isn't that what you dream of, showing mommy how good it could be?"
A garbled cry escaped his lips, and she knew he was shooting. She squeezed and pumped, and she could feel him pushing out semen, shooting into his shorts, emptying himself. She helped, feeling the raw power of him, of his orgasm. It was something she hadn't felt in a long, long time, and she found herself wanting to prolong it, wanting to keep him shooting even after he had stopped. As she released him, she found her heart pounding, her body excited. While urging him, she had lost track of how excited she had become. She hadn't been this aroused in...well, in more years than she cared to remember. Her body quivered with unmet desire. She stepped back, her nipples pulsating with blood, her panties moist. Before she could ask herself what she had done, he turned from the sink.
They exchanged a look that was more than she could fathom at the moment. Gratitude, excitement, contentment, release, they were all there in his face. Something else was there too—fear. Along with the rest, fear had its place. A boundary had been crossed, and they both knew it, and travel into the unknown always brought fear. He was afraid, and so was she. With the briefest nod, he moved past her. She heard him go to his room. For a moment, she thought she should follow him, perhaps talk about what had happened, about desire and need and the ways of the flesh. But she decided against it. Later, later, they would find a way to examine what had happened. They would decide if the boundary would go back up or remain down. In a little while. Before then, she would check her fervor and finish dinner. He would be hungry after what he had done. She would feed him well.
Even before she had dinner on the table, Ricky appeared. He had changed shorts, and he wore a sheepish grin, as if he had stolen a cookie from the cookie jar. He looked at her across the kitchen and stuck out his tongue. He waved it from side to side. He didn't say a word, but his meaning was clear, at least she thought his meaning was clear. Had she been not so aroused, she might have let it go, but after making him cum in his shorts, her own itch had mushroomed. She wondered if he might be able to scratch it. She waved him into the family room.
She pointed to the floor, and he went down on his back. She stood to one side a moment before she stripped off her shorts and panties already damp from before. She straddled him, a foot on either side of his wide chest. The air felt good on her moist skin, cooling her a bit, stimulating her a bit. She watched his eyes scan her, staring up at her, taking in everything that made her a woman. She let him look. She knew she looked good. Trimmed, waxed, a bit swollen with desire, she knew he was fascinated by her body, by the things he could know so little about. She guessed he knew locker room hearsay and internet rumors. She doubted he had any real knowledge of the female anatomy and how to take advantage of it. His stare excited her. She liked the idea that he was a virgin, a boy in a man's body. She would be his first and his best, and he would never forget this moment, this night. For the rest of his life she would occupy a position of power and reverence. She had introduced him to the pleasures of the flesh. She would be his mentor. God, that made her feel powerful and in control.
She sank to her knees over his face. He reached up with his tongue and touched her. Gentle, probing, tentative, he ran the tip along her, teasing her more than he could know. It was like a young child learning to crawl. A few wary probes before any real progress. Yet, despite the initial ineptness, she was incredibly aroused. Ricky was beneath her, and Ricky was tonguing her, and that was a dream she had never expected to come true. Ricky, Ricky, Ricky was trying to please her, to turn her on, to bring forth an orgasm from her. Her son was worming his tongue into her, into his mommy, sipping at the juice she was producing, occasionally coming into contact with a clit that swelled by the second. That was the hottest, wildest dream she had ever had—and it was coming true.
She began to talk to him. Instead of his clumsy guesses, she guided his efforts. He was to use that part of his tongue on that part of her, and if he did it right—wow, she shivered with delight. She kept talking to him, and he followed her instructions to the letter. He touched her there and there and there, and soon she was dripping onto his face. She panted, as she tried to keep up with the directions. He was reducing her to a puddle, a shaking pool of desire. With every little flick and lick and suck and nibble she became more entranced with him. She felt as if she had her very own slave, someone who would do anything and everything she commanded. The power combined with need to make her giddy, heady with what was happening. She moved on top of him, her hips needing to push and pull. She told him she was going to use his tongue. No, she was going to fuck his tongue, fuck his face, fuck his mouth until she came. She told him to keep going while she moved, while she fucked him, fucked him like a slut, like a woman who lived for sex and nothing but sex.
She ground down on him forcing him deeper. Then, she let up, allowing him to breathe before she went down on him again. She loved how his tongue slithered around inside her, touching and rubbing and making her even more wild. She pinched her nipples hard and humped his face again and again, raking herself over his tongue and lips and nose. For a moment, she thought she might her him, damage his nose, but then the lust gripped her and she pushed him ever deeper, every harder. This was something she had dreamed of, something she wished she could do often. She had always wanted to grind away on a man's face and tongue, fuck him without regard as to his pleasure. She was doing this for herself with her virgin son, conditioning him to what drove women to a frenzy. How sexy was that? Not just a virgin boy, but her virgin son. She was training him to please her, to make her shoot like the slut she felt like.
Considering all the taboos she was breaking, she became even more excited. What if someone caught them? What if someone saw? Did she care? No, that only made the sex more delicious. She fucked the face of her virgin son, and she wanted nothing more than to squirt on him, to shudder on him, to release the pent up energy. Need and heat drove her. She was no better than a dog in heat, a female that had to be satisfied.
She shoved herself forward and back over his tongue, and she knew she had taken herself as far as she could go. Screaming his name, telling him she was going to cum, she pressed down and let it happen. She came with a gush of hot juice, a flood. Her entire body rocked with the effort. She felt her entire insides had melted and were rushing out. It felt incredibly good, all the better for coming on Ricky's tongue and Ricky's face. She was doing it to her virgin son, and that added a touch of spice. God, she couldn't remember a better orgasm.
The next morning, the events of the evening before seemed like a dream. Breakfast was a silent affair, and Ricky left without even the usual cursory kiss on her cheek. Lori went to work, shoving the experience deep into her subconscious. She would have to deal with it sooner or later but not at work. At least, she tried to keep her mind on her tasks. Despite admonitions to the contrary, her mind did dredge up images and feelings from the evening before. Her fingers remembered how big he felt through his shorts. Her body remembered how his tongue felt inside. Every time the memory surfaced, she felt a tiny rush. She tingled a bit before she pushed the feelings down again.
At lunch, Denise bubbled about her latest conquest, a 20-year-old construction worker. While he wasn't 'hung', and he wasn't exactly as young or virginal as she liked, he did come home with her and hop into the sack. Oh, and she had to give him a blow job, and no, he didn't reciprocate, but still, he was a catch, right? Lori hardly listened to the prattle. She could top Denise in spades. She had a 18 year old, hung, virginal, willing, and able to give her the best tongue she had ever had. And Lori wanted to tell Denise. Lori wanted to tell someone about it, about how good and wicked and wonderful it had been. Keeping it a secret was so hard. But it had to be a secret from everyone—well, almost everyone.
