Living With Mom 1

Living with Mom

Kathryn M. Burke

It's kind of a drag living with your mom when you're twenty years old. But that's the predicament I found myself in.

I'm Tony Rivers, and after graduating from high school I didn't think I was really ready for college; so I started taking classes at this community college while also working at cruddy part-time jobs here and there. I was making so little money that I wasn't able to live on my own, so I ended up staying at home. And things weren't helped by the fact that my parents split up right around this time. So my dad flew the coop, and I was left alone with Mom. And since all she did was work as a waitress at a local restaurant, mostly in the evenings, neither of us were in the lap of luxury.

I will say this for my mom: she's a fine-looking woman. I bet she got more tips just from her ample boobs and wiggling hips than most of the other waitresses at that restaurant; and she looked quite a bit younger than her forty-four years. Her name is Elizabeth, but she liked to be called Betty.

Mom was a nice, sweet, caring woman—a bit too caring, in fact. She was kind of smothering and overprotective of me, especially after Dad left and I was all she had. She kept hovering around me when I was doing homework (as if there was any way she could help with that!), and in general treated me as if I were a kid. Don't get me wrong: I loved her, but I could have used a little more space.

Things got complicated when I started getting interested in a girl at my community college named Linda, who was almost exactly the same age as me. She was kind of shy, but I like that in a girl. No guy wants a girl who comes on too strong—you know what I mean? What this meant was that it took a lot of effort for me to get Linda to, well, get cuddly. There were times when she thought that even kissing was too much for her!

Finally, one evening I persuaded her to come over to the tiny little two-bedroom house Mom and I were living in. I was convinced that something would happen: we'd been going out for about two weeks, and I'd barely managed to give her a few hugs at the end of our unsatisfying "dates." But I think she was finally starting to open up (no pun intended!), and she herself hooked arms with me as we walked back to my place. I could feel her boob brushing up against my chest as we walked—and I'm sure that was deliberate on her part!

Mom wouldn't come home until at least 11 p.m., the usual time she got off work. I figured that would give Linda and me plenty of time to do—whatever.

Even so, the moment Linda walked into the house she seemed to get all agitated. The place was so small that, the moment you entered it, you could see my bedroom and Mom's bedroom leading off of the living room. Linda's eyes got big at the mere sight of a bed. She was no dummy: she knew exactly what I had in mind!

I tried to make her feel at home by putting on some soft music on the CD player in the living room. For a while we just sat there on the couch. After about half an hour, she allowed me to put an arm around her; it took even longer for her to rest her head against my chest. I snaked my hand down from her shoulder—I could have taken hold of her left breast, but I'm sure she would have freaked out at that. Man, these timid girls! Don't they feel the urge themselves? Are they really satisfied with just rubbing themselves in the privacy of their own bedrooms?

At long, long last Linda started getting snuggly. She gazed up at me with this look that seemed to combine fear and longing. I just started kissing her lightly: women like that, don't they? Not even an open-mouthed kiss, and certainly no tongue. I think she was starting to get in the mood: she was letting out these quiet little moans and sighs, and she wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her tits against my chest.

I actually wanted to move to my bed, but I thought that might make Linda nervous; anyway, we were really comfortable right here on the couch. So I slowly—very slowly—reached down and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

She watched my fingers as if hypnotized, but didn't try to stop me. Encouraged, I went ahead and undid the second button. Now I could see quite a bit of her cleavage, and the top part of her bra. Oh, man, I was going to ring the bell tonight!

I started kissing her more vigorously—on her cheeks and neck and throat. I even stuck my tongue into her ear: that drives women wild, believe you me! In fact, Linda burst out with a surprised squeal when I did that, but otherwise didn't try to stop me.

By now I'd undone all the buttons on her blouse, and was staring intently at those heavenly breasts (fairly large—not as large as Mom's, though!) even though they were still encased by a white bra.

Then something horrible happened.

I saw and heard Mom's car pull into the driveway.

It was unmistakable: the headlights shone through the big picture window in the living room. Who else would be parking a car in our driveway? And yet, it was only just after 10 o'clock! What the hell was Mom doing coming home so early?

Well, you can imagine Linda's reaction. She knew I lived alone with my mom, and she had no doubt who was in that car. Now almost shrieking with horror, she clutched the two sides of her blouse together, not bothering to try buttoning them up, and ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. Luckily, we hadn't turned on very many lights in the house, so Mom wouldn't have been able to see what was going on inside.

"I gotta get out of here!" she whispered at me.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said, angry and frustrated.

Luckily, we have a side door in the kitchen where you can get out if you don't want to use the front door. If that hadn't been there, Linda would probably have had to resort to the age-old practice of hiding in a closet until Mom had gone to bed. She dashed to that door, scrabbled at the knob, and got it open. With her backpack slung over one shoulder, she bolted out of the house without even saying a word or giving me a goodbye kiss.

I was fuming. This might be the end of my whole relationship—if you can call it that—with Linda. So close, and yet so far!

But I didn't stop to reflect on that. I could hear Mom making her brisk way to the front door, in those sexy high heels she made a point of wearing at the restaurant. I fled to my own bedroom, where I stripped to my underwear in a matter of seconds and slipped under the sheets. It was kind of early, but I figured that pretending to be asleep—or at least getting ready to go to sleep—was the best way I could act as if nothing unusual had happened that evening.

Mom came in, dumping her handbag on an easy chair near the front door, as she always did. She was dressed in her waitress's outfit, of course, and immediately noticed the absence of lights in the house and the fact that I was already in bed.

"Are you asleep, dear?" she called out in her high, musical voice.

"No, Mom," I muttered. "What are you doing home so soon?"

"Don't you remember? I worked late last night, so tonight I left an hour early.

Of course! What a dummy I was for forgetting that.

"It's a little early for you to go to bed, isn't it?" she went on.

"I guess."

"You're not sick, are you?" (See what I mean? Always being a bit oversolicitous.)

"No, Mom, I'm fine—just tired."

"Well, I'll look in on you after I change."

She went in to her own bedroom, and I could hear her take her clothes off. She hadn't bothered to close the door! I couldn't help thinking of what Mom looked like naked. Of course I'd never seen her that way, but given how tantalizingly close I'd come to "scoring" with Linda, my imagination was working overtime!

In a matter of minutes, Mom drifted into my bedroom, wearing her favorite nightgown. I have to say it looked spectacular on her: it only went down to about the middle of her thighs, and it also had a low-cut scoop neck that allowed me to see a lot of her cleavage. I know, I know—I'm not supposed to think of my mom that way. But at that moment I couldn't help it!

She sat down at the corner of my bed, only inches from me. She had this concerned look on her face. She peered at me keenly and said, "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm

fine,

Mom!" I said impatiently.

"You look a little feverish, dear."

There was a night-light in the room, but she went ahead and turned on the light on my nightstand to get a better look.

"You

are

feverish! Your face is all red!"

I didn't doubt that it was—and you can imagine how that had happened! I in fact did feel hot, but it wasn't from a fever.

Even so, Mom put the back of her hand—it felt wonderfully cool and soft—on my forehead, just as if I were a little boy.

Mom,

I wanted to scream,

I'm a grown man! And you've just interrupted—

Well, I wouldn't have said that to her.

"You sure you're not sick?" she said intently. It was almost as if she

wanted

me to be sick, just so she could take care of me. That's the kind of mom she was.

"Mom, really, I'm fine. It's a warm night, you know."

She didn't seem convinced. Then, as if receiving a revelation from God, her face lit up with understanding. She gave me a knowing smile.

"I think I know what's the matter," she cooed.

And with that, she flung back the sheet and thin blanket covering me and exposed nearly my whole body to her gaze, including my boxer briefs, which were seriously distorted with a huge hard-on.

She nodded to herself. "I thought that might be it," she whispered.

I was flabbergasted. Jesus, I didn't want my mom seeing me in this condition! How embarrassing! I wanted to cover myself, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. And then, as I watched in horror, Mom calmly pulled down my briefs to my knees, and my erection popped out like a jack-in-the-box.

Her eyes widened as she saw how big my cock was. (It's between seven and eight inches long.) Then, as it actually began quivering from excitement, she looked at it almost sorrowfully and said:

"Oh, you poor thing. That looks so uncomfortable."

At first she just stared at my cock, as if it was a curious little animal that had snuck into the house. Then, as I remained petrified in a kind of combined horror and fascination, she did something a little strange: with her index finger she just stroked my cock up and down, as if gauging exactly how hard I was. This touch, slight as it was, seemed to both of us an enormously significant moment.

And then, before I could say anything or object, she bent down and stuck about half of it into her mouth.

Holy cow! Moms aren't supposed to do this to their sons, even if they're grown men! At that moment I somehow didn't feel very grown up—aside from the fact that my cock felt bigger and stiffer than it had ever done in my whole life.

"Mom," I managed to croak, "for God's sake what are you doing?"

But she paid no attention—and now something dawned on me too.

The fact is that, since Dad had left, Mom had really had almost no encounters with men. I guess she felt awkward bringing a guy over to the house when I was there, and I didn't recall her ever spending the night away from home in the past two years. I'd read somewhere that women of her age felt the urge even more strongly than when they were younger, so Mom must really have been starved for sex. And here I was, a fine, strapping young man with a big cock! Who cares if I was her son?

I'm sure I didn't. After my initial shock at what Mom was doing, I just lay back and enjoyed the sensation. She was really working that cock with her lips and tongue for all it was worth, and she was also using one hand to tickle my balls. I just love that! At times she reached all the way under me to grab my bottom. I knew lots of women like a good male butt, and Mom must have been one of them!

I thought I might explode in her mouth—and the very thought of it made me both excited and mortified. But she abruptly stopped what she was doing and stood up next to my bed.

Eyeing me fixedly, she pulled down her nightgown off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Omigod! I was seeing my mom naked!

And there was so much to see. Those breasts looked even better uncovered than they did even when she was wearing the most revealing clothing. They were really large, but still firm and high; and their nipples stuck out almost a half-inch from the surface. A thought shot through my mind:

I must have suckled those nipples when I was a baby.

Oh, man, did I want to get some nourishment out of them right then!

The rest of her was also fabulous. She took good care of herself, and her flat stomach and gently flaring hips and (from what I could see from this angle) tight, curvy butt were all heaven to my sight. She was one spectacular vision of ripe womanhood, and I almost cried at the thought that no man had wrapped his arms around her, or—

I couldn't believe what she did next.

She climbed up onto the bed, squatted over my thighs, took my cock in her hand, and pulled it up to a vertical position. Then she rubbed it back and forth against her bush! She had a really thick bush—and, strangely enough, the hair was curly, even though the hair on her head was mostly straight. Then she raised herself up a little bit, and—still staring right at me—stuck me into herself.

Oh, baby, what a feeling! I watched in amazement as my cock disappeared into that wet, warm pussy. Mom seemed a bit amazed too: her pupils in her eyes rolled up, and her mouth fell open and her tongue stuck out of it. I guess the two years since she'd had a man's thing in her had made her kind of tight—almost like a virgin! I almost laughed out loud at that ridiculous idea:

My mom, the virgin!

I just couldn't believe she just plunged into this Oedipus routine without the least bit of concern for conventional morality. Didn't she know or care that moms aren't supposed to stick their sons' cocks into themselves? But I suppose sex deprivation is a pretty serious thing. For me, even going a few months without sex is awful—I can't even imagine going two whole years without shoving my dick into a girl.

So Mom rode me like it was going out of style. As she bounced up and down on my organ, her breasts jiggled in a way that made me stare open-mouthed at them. Sometimes she put her arms behind her head so that her tits raised themselves up even higher than usual. Other times she put her hands on my chest—but always in such a way that I could still get a good look at my thing going in and out of her.

Well, given my near-miss with Linda and the mind-blowing fact of having sex with my own mom, I knew I couldn't last very long. It was only a matter of minutes before I felt that tingling in my balls that signaled the culmination that all guys yearn for. And then I started sending long, thick streams of my come deep into Mom's pussy. She could feel them going into her, and she gave me this sweet little smile as if saying, "Good boy! You've done your duty."

I didn't think I could ever stop coming. I mean, it's not every day that you send your discharge into your mother! She herself seemed impressed. As she felt the come still pouring out of me, she raised her eyebrows and said softly to herself, "My God, so much!"

I was finally drained, feeling dizzy and exhausted. As Mom pried herself off my cock and flopped down on her back next to me, she said, "Was that nice, dear?"

"The best, Mom!" I said enthusiastically.

But I knew my work wasn't entirely done. I wasn't one of those guys who are selfishly interested only in their own pleasure. So I said, "Did you come too, Mom?"

She smiled as she gazed up at the ceiling. "Not quite, dear. I was pretty close, but I didn't quite get there."

"Can I make you come?" I said eagerly.

She looked over at me and said, "You may, dear." It was as if she'd given me permission to take another cookie from the cookie jar.

There was, in this case, an added reason why I wanted to see and

feel

her come. As I put my hand down between her legs, I could already sense my stuff leaking out of her. That made the

reality

of what I'd done hit me like a ton of bricks. But as I started stroking her, my focus was on her. I wanted to see every moment of her impending climax: the little frown that came over her face as she began feeling it coming on; the tongue that snaked out of her mouth and licked her lips; the hands that clutched the sheets as she got closer and closer to the physical and mental explosion that every orgasm brings; the moans and sighs and gasps that came from her mouth, as her breasts filled up like balloons with each intake of breath.

Then, suddenly, I knew I had to do something else.

I scooted down between her legs, so that my face was inches away from her crevice. A kind of awe overcame me as I peered at that dark cavity from which I'd emerged into life twenty years ago. It was now covered with both her wetness and mine—and I began licking it all up avidly (I'd never tasted my own come before) as I grabbed her bottom, sometimes sticking my tongue as deep into her vagina as I could, other times nuzzling her puffy labia and swelling clitoris as more of her own fluids oozed out of her.

And then she came.

I'd never seen or heard anything like it. She let out an actual scream as she tossed her head back and forth; her little hands pounded the bed; and she started bucking her hips wildly, making it hard for me to keep my mouth on her cleft. I knew from experience with other girls that women's orgasms can go on for a long time, and I was determined to give Mom one of the best she'd ever had. So I held on for dear life, clutching her butt with both hands even as her legs started quivering and her heels pounded my back in unrestrained ecstasy. After a while her paroxysm became a little less noisy, but she was still crying out—something between a wail and the high-pitched mewing of a cat—as that climax kept on going.

Finally she shoved my head away: she couldn't take it any more! I was hugely proud that I'd given her such pleasure. Maybe I'd done better than Dad!

After that we just held each other close. I didn't even think of her as "Mom" now: she was just this incredibly desirable woman whom I'd satisfied and who had satisfied me.

Then, with her body draped over mine, she looked down at me and smirked.

"Tony," she said slyly, "what's happened to you down there?"

As you can guess, I'd gotten hard again.

It's only the rare female who can do that to me—but Mom was definitely one of them! I just gave her this sheepish smile that said:

Well, Mom, I can't help it.

"You want another round?" she said.

I nodded.

She pondered for a moment, then said, "We could try something else."

"You mean a different position?"

"No, not exactly." After a pause that signaled a bit of embarrassment on her part, she went on. "Would you like to go into my bottom?"

Oh, baby, would I! I'd done that only a couple of times with this one girl: so many of my bedmates (not that I'd had all that many, you understand) were annoyingly resistant to the idea of "rear entry," and one of them had actually ordered me out of her bedroom when I'd asked her about it. But here was Mom actually

wanting

it!

Women are funny, aren't they?

Of course I said, "You bet!"

Mom immediately got up from bed and drifted over to the bathroom, saying, "We need some lube."

She came back with a jar of cold cream in her hand. Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.

"That's the lube you like?"

"Yup. It works real well."

"You mean . . . Dad?"

"Yes, your daddy did it to me a lot. I love it!"

She lubed herself up, then got back on the bed, lying face down. I got the impression she didn't like the doggie-style position, and expected me to lie right on top of her. That was fine with me—I could get a real good feel of her body that way.