No Hands

No Hands

Kathryn M. Burke

I'm Nancy Davis. My husband Jim is away a lot—and why not? He's a truck driver. Sometimes he ends up spending two or three weeks on the road. I'd be pretty lonely if I didn't have our son, Jason, to keep me company.

Both Jim and I want better things for Jason. We didn't get much education, but we hope our son can get ahead in the world by using his brain more than his brawn (and he has plenty of that, let me tell you!). So we enrolled him in a community college nearby. He also works part-time at a hardware store. But he doesn't make much money there, so at the age of twenty he still lives at home.

I'm not sure how happy he is about that. It kind of puts a crimp in his love life—you know what I mean? What guy wants to bring a cute young girl over for cuddling if his boring old mom (or, worse,

both

of his parents) are hanging around? But at the moment he doesn't have much choice in the matter.

And I hope I'm not so boring as all that. I've kept myself in pretty good shape, even though I end up sitting on my butt most of the day as a receptionist at a dentist's office. But I get a lot of exercise, and try to keep fit in other ways.

Okay, I'll let you in on a guilty secret. I spend a fair amount of time admiring myself in the full-length mirror in our bedroom, especially when I come out of the shower. I doff the towel I've wrapped around myself and just stare at what the mirror shows of me. I'm of average height (five foot six), and at forty-two I still think I have a lot of the "assets" that men like. Jim hasn't complained, anyway!

As I look at myself, I start at the top of my head and move down. I have this huge pile of soft brown hair (what in the 1980s they called "big hair") framing an oval face that, so I've been told, looks kind of seductive and kind of melancholy. Not that I'm sad or depressed—not a bit of it! But sometimes my expression makes me look that way. Moving down, we get to my tits. Is it immodest of me to say that they're still high and firm? Pretty big too (34D, if you're interested). The nipples stick out a lot, especially if I'm—well, you know.

I have a reasonably flat stomach, and that leads to the cute little mound that all women have down there. I used to shave, but Jim doesn't like that, so I've let my bush grow—and boy, has it ever! The fur comes almost up to my navel. And the funny thing is that it's curly, while the hair on my head is straight. Go figure!

I have pretty nice, round thighs, tapered calves, and small feet. And if I turn around to look at my backside, I see the curvy cheeks of my bottom. Jim just about goes wild over it—he actually kisses it sometimes. No jokes about him being an "ass-kisser," people! I can't help it if my husband appreciates a good female butt.

I'm going into all this not because I'm full of myself, but because it has a lot to do with the story I'm about to tell you.

One Saturday morning, I'd taken my shower a little later than usual. It wasn't a workday, after all—and anyway, Jason insisted on getting a big eggs-and-bacon breakfast. He's still a growing boy, I guess—and I have to say he's turned out to be a fine figure of a young man. He must be at least five foot ten by now, and he has muscles on top of muscles—even more so than his father, who's no slouch in that department. He works out a lot and still loves to play sports with his old friends from high school. But he's actually kind of shy, especially where the opposite sex is concerned. He's never brought a girl over to the house, and he almost never tells me he's going on a date. Poor guy!

Well, I came out of the shower and padded barefoot to my bedroom, with only my towel covering me from my chest to my thighs. I did notice Jason giving me an eyefull as I passed the open door of his bedroom, but didn't think anything of it.

When I got to the bedroom, I shut the door—but maybe not all the way. Jim had been gone for nearly two weeks, and I was really feeling a certain emptiness—well, you know where. So when I threw off the towel, I looked at myself even more carefully than before, to make sure I wasn't losing my appeal to the male of the species.

I sort of got lost in gazing at myself, because I didn't hear the door opening. It was only when I saw another figure in the mirror that I realized I wasn't alone.

It was my son—and he was naked.

I gasped and cried out, "Jason, you shouldn't be here!" And then I turned around to face him.

I thought I'd faint. He was an incredible specimen of male attractiveness, and in spite of my shock and embarrassment I couldn't help admiring the boy—no, he's a full-grown man now, isn't he?—I had produced from my womb. I'm not just referring to his broad shoulders, his muscular chest, his strong hips and thighs.

I'm referring to the thick, nine-inch thing projecting from his groin.

I think my jaw dropped when I saw it. The first thing that flashed through my mind was:

Omigod, he's bigger than his father.

You see, Jim's thing is only about eight inches—which isn't bad at all, believe you me! But I'd handled it so many times that I could tell that Jason's was just an inch or so longer.

It was too late to cover myself with a towel or anything else. All I could do was stand silently as my son drank in my boobs and my stomach and my delta and everything else he could see.

He was looking at me with a strange expression—sort of like he was seeing something so beautiful it

hurt

him. Well, that was flattering, but it was still hugely mortifying. I mean, a boy (sorry, a man) shouldn't see his mom naked, should he? And at his age, a mom shouldn't see her son naked.

We seemed frozen in place, neither of us moving. Then, after what seemed like minutes, something did start to move.

His thing—okay, let me just call it a cock—started to twitch. As Jason continued to drink me in with his eyes, his hands remained at his sides, but his cock was quivering as if a jolt of electricity was running through it. And then, as little grunts started coming out of his throat, it happened.

He came.

His cock began sending out spurts of his seed in every direction. Remember, he wasn't touching it! A lot of it landed on

me

—I was standing only a few feet away from him. It splashed on my belly, trickling down and mingling with the thick hair in my bush. It landed on my stomach; some of it even went all the way up and landed on my tits.

My God, there was so much of it! The poor guy must have been saving it up.

I'd never seen a man come that way. I almost burst out with nervous laughter as I remembered the phrase that little boys say when they're goofing around on a bicycle:

Look, Ma! No hands!

Jason had come without the use of his hands. I have to say, I was impressed.

But then I was annoyed, because now the last little remnants of his emission were dripping down onto the floor. And he wasn't playing the slightest attention.

I turned around and snatched up some Kleenex from the nightstand next to the bed. First wiping myself off, I knelt down and cried, "Oh, Jason, you're making such a mess—and on my nice carpet, too!" You see, we'd had comfy wall-to-wall carpeting put in this room; it was one of our few luxuries. And now it was stained with come!

As I dabbed at the litle droplets on the carpet with the Kleenex, I found myself about two inches from his member. It was still dripping! For goodness' sake, how much come was there in that boy?

So what else could I do but take it in my hand and clean it up?

But having his cock (which

still

wasn't entirely soft) in my hand made me think about how long it had been since I'd held one of those things—or had one in me. It looked so cute in front of my nose. And then I saw one final drop of come oozing out of that little hole at the tip. What else could I do but flick my tongue over the knobby head and swallow that oozy, salty discharge?

I knew I shouldn't have done that. After all, this was my son! And he was standing in front of me, naked.

I'd somehow forgotten that I was also naked.

After a few minutes Jason lifted me up off the floor and held me close to him, so I could feel his now stiffening member press up against my abdomen, just as my breasts were pressing up against his chest. Then he kissed me on the mouth.

Take my word for it: that was no way for a son to kiss his mom!

But his lips felt so good against my own . . . It sent me back to when I was his age. I was kind of a late bloomer where love was concerned, and I guess I went a little crazy when I finally found out how much fun sex was. I ended up spreading my legs for just about any presentable guy who came along. After a while I stopped that—I was getting a reputation for being "easy," and that's never good—and then I met Jim and fell in love.

And, as Jason was giving me that very unlike-a-son kiss, it began to occur to me that he looked a lot like Jim when I'd first met him. Jason's actually a bit stockier than Jim, but otherwise they look very much the same.

I threw my arms around Jason's neck—that's what women do when they're kissed, don't they?—and held my body even closer to his than before. Jason first had his hands around my waist, but quickly slid a hand down to my butt. Oh, man! My butt's really sensitive, and I love to have a man rub it. I've told you that my husband actually

kisses

it sometimes.

Jason was now fully hard again, and I thought he was trying to scrunch himself down so that he could put his thing into me right then, standing up. Don't get me wrong: I've had sex standing up before, but with my son being so much taller than me, I knew it wouldn't work very well.

And by this time I was determined to go "all the way" with him.

Very naughty, you say? Of course it is! I know all about Oedipus and things like that. A boy—even when he's a full-grown man—isn't supposed to have feelings like that for his mom. And a mom

certainly

shouldn't feel that way about her son, let alone actually do something about it!

Well, it was too late for that. I wanted that cock in me so bad . . .

So I murmured into Jason's ear, "Let's go to the bed, dear."

I pulled away from him and lay down on our queen-size bed, where my husband and I had consummated our love countless numbers of times. In fact, I had to wash the sheets pretty often because they got so many stains on them. Occupatonal hazard for couples who like sex!

My son followed me, devouring my body with hungry eyes.

He

certainly didn't seem to care whether I was his mother or not. Maybe he was trying to convince himself that I was just an attractive older woman who was seducing him—or being seduced by him. After all, he'd started it!

He landed on top of me, and I thought he might just go right into me without so much as a by-your-leave. But instead he placed his head on my breasts and began kissing and licking them, even nuzzling on the nipples as if he was trying to draw nourishment from them (as he'd done so many years ago as a baby). But then he moved up and, towering over me, seemed on the verge of entering me. Once again, he didn't seem to need his hands to guide his cock to that sacred haven of a man's desire.

But then, just as his cock was nudging up against the opening of my cleft, he stopped. He looked down at me with a kind of silent plea, as if saying:

Mom, is this really okay?

I smiled warmly at him, saying silently:

Of course it is, dear boy.

And so he entered me.

Boy, did he ever! His first thrust got him in more than halfway, and I gasped as I felt the size and heft of that cock forging into me. I was as wet as a flowing river down there, and I immediately wrapped my legs around his hips while clutching his back and shoulders with my arms. I could tell that the warmth and wetness of my pussy was inspiring him, because with a few more pushes he was in all the way. Oh, my Lord! I hadn't had a cock that big in me since—well, since maybe never.

He soon got into a comfortable rhythm, pumping me while showering kisses all over my face and neck. Once he raised up my arm and kissed my armpit. Imagine! It was such a strange sensation that I couldn't help letting out a girlish little squeal. But that was nothing to what I felt when he put his thick, hot tongue into my ear. Omigod! I think I had a kind of min-climax then, which sent shivers all through my body.

Even though he'd already come once, I had a feeling he couldn't hold out very long. I very much doubted he was a virgin—he knew too well what to do—but I sensed that he hadn't had a girl in a while, and he was really missing it. Well, now he had a "girl" right in his own home!

When he was about to come, he lowered himself onto me with all his weight, covering me like a huge, warm, living blanket. And then I could feel his cock pulsing in my vagina, and the thick, ropy strands of his emission flooding into me. What we'd done before—his showering me with come from his no-hands climax, my holding and licking his cock—was nothing compared to the pouring out of his seed into me. It was the ultimate fusion of our bodies, something that can never be undone. His come was the glue that cemented this new and more intense relationship we'd just established.

I knew he hated to pull out, but now he really was getting soft, so he slid out of me and, with a sort of frustrated moan, rolled off and landed on his back. He was staring up at the ceiling in a daze, and I was doing pretty much the same thing, except that I sometimes looked down to see his stuff leaking out of me onto the sheet. More washing to be done!

But then, as if remembering something he'd forgotten, he turned on his side and looked intently at me.

"Mom, did you come?" he said.

How considerate of him for asking! "No, dear," I said, stroking his cheek. "Women don't usually come from intercourse."

"Can I make you come?" he said eagerly. He'd used exactly that same tone of voice when I'd taken him to the grocery store for shopping and he asked me for a candy bar at the checkout counter.

"Of course you may," I said.

At first he just gazed at my form from head to toe, as if he couldn't get enough of the sight of a naked woman. And why not? There's a lot of nice things to look at, if I do say so myself.

He brought his hand up and stroked my cheek just the way I'd done to him. Then he let that hand drift down the front of my body, going between my breasts (although he gave one of them a nice squeeze), tracing a finger all along my stomach and down to my thick bush, which seemed to fascinate him. He gave some of the curly tufts a gentle pull, and then he finally reached his cherished goal.

It delighted him to find his stuff trickling out of me, because for a while he just wanted to coat his fingers in his own fluid (although some of mine was mixed in with it). At first he stuck his fingers—two or three of them—deep into me, but then he got to work stroking me. He had this way of fondling my labia while using his thumg to rub my clitoris. No man had ever done that to me before! I found it so stimulating that I arched my back and let out a heavy groan. He watched every move I was making: the little frown that spread over my face when he stroked me especially nicely, the way my tongue stuck out of my mouth, the way I clutched the sheets when his ministrations were particularly intense. It was as if he wanted to see and even feel everything I was going through.

And when I came, I let out something close to a shriek. God, I'd never had such an intense orgasm before! And my dear son somehow knew that a woman's climax could just go on and on and on with the right touch—and he was doing exactly that! It must have seemed to him that I was being electrocuted, my body was shaking and quivering so much. For minute after minute it went on, until finally I had to push his hand away, gasping and trembling.

He gazed down at me with this benevolent look on his face and said, "Oh, Mom, you look so beautiful when you come."

What a sweet thing for a son to say to his mother!

Well, I figured we weren't finished yet—because when I got a hold of myself I could see that he'd gotten hard yet again. Good boy! So many women want to do it more than once, and so many men just aren't up to the job. Maybe it was the unusual circumstances; whatever it was, Jason was ready to go one more time.

He was planning to get on top of me again, but I stopped him and said, "Jason, dear, would you like to try something else?"

His eyes opened wide and he said, "You mean a different position?"

"Not exactly," I said. Then I suddenly got embarrassed at the very thought of telling him what I wanted. But I cast caution to the winds and said, "Would you like to go into my bottom?"

He gasped at the naughtiness of the question. "You—you like that?"

"Yup," I said. "Your daddy does it to me a lot."

A glum expression spread over his face. "No girl has let me do that to her."

"Well, dear, it's not for everyone. I mean, it hurts the first time—first couple of times, in fact. But I'm used to it."

He seemed to expect me to roll over or get on my hands and knees or something, but I said, "Jason, we need some lube. You should never do this to a girl without lube. Go find something in the medicine cabinet."

He leaped out of bed and almost ran to the bathroom. A minute or two later he came back, holding a little blue jar in his hand.

"Cold cream?" I said. "Well, I suppose that'll work. Scoop up some of it onto your fingers and put it on me."

I think Jason was a little startled. It's not every day that your mother asks you to stick your fingers into her asshole. But he was so keen on doing this thing that all his previous girls had denied him that he sprang to the task. I did get on my hands and knees on the bed, and he stuffed a generous dollop of the cold, wet stuff in and around my anus. It tickled me a bit, and I giggled.

Then he climbed up onto the bed and kneeled behind me. I could see he was already rock-hard. For a while he just sat there, gazing at my bottom. I guess he thought it looked really nice! Then, tentatively, he started to guide his cock to the desired spot. He had a little difficulty getting in, so I reached around, took it in my hand, and put it in the right place.

He slipped in several inches all at once—and the sensation was so incredible that he came out with this "Oh!" of surprise and delight. Then he went in a bit farther. That was no problem—I could take it. He placed his hands on my hips to steady himself, then he got going.

At first he started slowly, worried that he might be hurting me. But I did my best to give him some encouragement, and after a while he really began pounding me. With each thrust he went in deeper and deeper. Not all the way—I don't think that would have been possible—but pretty far, let me tell you! You can't believe how

filled up

I felt! It was like his entire body was going into me. Poor, dear Jason was almost weeping with ecstasy, moaning and gasping as if he'd suddenly gone to heaven. Even though I'd done this hundreds of times, I guess it was still a pretty tight fit for his cock.

I figured he shouldn't be the only one enjoying himself, so I slid a hand down my body and started tickling my sex as he kept pummeling me. Soon his moans began to sound like one continuous whine, and I knew he was close to the culmination. So was I! I tried to gauge exactly when he would come, because I wanted to come at the same time. That's really rare, folks.

And we managed it. As I felt the first threads of his emission pouring into me, I rubbed myself harder—and my own orgasm began radiating out from my pussy all through my body. Guys, the female orgasm is a total body experience! I started shaking and quivering again, so much so that I almost dislodged him from my butt. But he managed to stay in, and it seemed he shot even more of his seed into that tight little hole than he'd done in the other one a while back.