Rain tales: The Heat Doctor
I lay in bed listening to heavy rain pounding the roof. A nice chill creeped through an open window filling the room and I crouched naked under the sheet enjoying the sweet feeling and the satisfying thought that I didn’t have to go to work because of a shift exchange.
I idly stroked my morning wood, fantasizing about the sexy older woman who had recently been employed as a secretary at my workplace. She was a buxom Indian woman in her mid-thirties, with a pair of big round boobs and, unusual for one of her ethnicity, a big high ass and thick round thighs. Rumor had it that she was a divorcee. It was also rumored that she dated black men only, which meant that at least on those grounds I had a chance. What I didn’t know was if she had a thing for younger guys; I was twenty five. I meant to find out, and had recently started throwing compliments at her. She would blush and smile sweetly each time.
I was on the verge of shooting cum to an image in my head of me going down on her fat cunt as she leaned against the wall in her office, one big leg over my shoulder and her big boobs swinging free from an unbuttoned blouse, but it suddenly occurred to me that an orgasm would be better if experienced while watching porn with a couple shots of vodka in my head; I was home alone, why not make the best of it? I managed to hold back the blast.
When the rain finally eased I heard movements about the house and shortly afterwards, the sound of my mom’s car leaving the yard, taking her and my younger sister to work. I got up and went to the kitchen where I made myself breakfast then took a quick shower. From my closet I pulled a full bottle of vodka; I did a little drinking in secret some nights while on my computer or listening to music from my stereo system. Mom was against drinking, having grown up in a home with alcoholic parents who were always fighting. She only ever took a moderate drink on special occasions like at Christmas time or at parties and family gatherings.
I sat down in my favourite chair, an old two seater sofa situated not far from the bottom of the stairs, a little off to the side. I placed my laptop, the vodka and a bottle of orange juice on top of a small table within hand reach. I downed a large straight shot to give myself a quick buzz, then filled the glass with a two part vodka, one part cold juice mixture -- no ice.
I logged into a site I subscribed to and began watching a thick mature Russian seducing her skinny, nerdy nephew. The aunt was on her knees blowing the nerd’s incredibly long tool, when I heard a soft sound from the stairs. I looked up and got the shock of my life. My mom was slowly coming down the stairs, looking like she could do with some more sleep. She was wearing only a short vest that stopped at her waist, and thin, white nylon bikini panties.
At forty-six, my mother’s petite, beige colored body was in excellent shape. She used to be a gymnast before she gave birth to me at twenty-one. My sister came along two years later. Mom is five foot, one and nicely shaped -- a slim waist, wide hips, round thighs and fluffy ass. She didn’t have the broad waist, boyish shape and heavy upper body that a lot of female gymnasts usually have. Her breasts were an altogether different story; they were tiny plum-like cuties with the longest imaginable brown nipples, that if measured would likely be close to two inches long.
Because of her small breasts she hardly ever wore bras, and never at home, which is how I come to know about her nipples; I’d peeked them on numerous occasions from down the front of a loose blouse or T-shirt, when she bent over while doing something or the other around the house or on the rare occasion when she happened to be in nightie alone. Though amazed by the length of her nipples and the overall diminutive sweetness of her breast I’d never thought about them in a sexual manner; after all she’s my mother. To me they were simply mommy’s nice tiny tits.
Though startled by the sudden appearance of mommy and the sight of her skimpy sleepwear, I had the presence of mind to grab the bottle of vodka and push it under the table. I watched amazed as she made the turn on the stairs and descended the final three steps, arms spread out high above head, mouth open wide in a lusty yawn. I couldn’t help thinking but not in a dirty manner that unless mommy was wearing a sanitary pad or was fetching a few years growth of hair down there, then that was one seriously plump pussy that the white nylon panties was stuffed with. The brief panties fitted her snugly, looking like it was threatening to burst.
When she was two feet away from me and I was standing up in an attempt to slip away out of her sight to save her any embarrassment, she completed the yawn and opened her eyes. She gave a loud shriek, and turning as if about to run back upstairs, stumbled and started to fall. I leaned over quickly and caught her, one hand around her chest, cupping a breast and the other one around her bare lower belly.
“It’s me, mom,” I cried out, just as she was bringing the word help up her throat.
At the sound of my voice she slumped and almost fell again. I pulled her against me, my cock still almost fully hard from watching the porn video, pressing into her back. I am five eleven, my dad’s height. Mom’s body was trembling and she was panting hard. I lowered us to the chair and held her shaking body close. Through panting breath, she said:
“Yuh nearly scared the life out of me ... oh my god ... mih heart is beating like a drum ... here, feel it.”
She lifted my hand and placed it on her chest. Her heart was indeed pumping maddeningly.
“Jesus, it really jumping in there,” I cried out.
She had dropped her hand away from the back of mine, but I kept my hand on her chest, fascinated by the wildly beating heart my hand was covering. And then, out of the blue a wicked light was switched on inside my head, followed by a sneaky thought as I felt the extra-long nipple against my palm. I lowered my hand a bit and spread my fingers. I then closed my fingers, trapping the nipple between two of them.
“I need a drink of water or something to help steady me ... oh my god,” I heard her softly say.
She started to get up and noticed the glass and juice bottle on the table.
“What’s this, orange juice?” she asked, leaning over.
Before I could reply she upped the glass and put it to her lips. She downed the content in one go. She gagged and gasped.
“Whah the hell is that I just drink?” she cried out, making a funny, screwed face.
“Orange juice and vodka,” I ventured, sheepishly.
“Orange juice and vodka, or orange flavored vodka? Christ, yuh nearly killed me twice in two minutes ... I thought I was alone in the house,” she said, looking at me.
“Me, too, I heard the car drive off.”
“That was Zara, I have the day off,” she said.
“And I exchanged shift, I don’t have to go in until tonight,” I told her.
I didn’t realize my fingers were still holding her nipple hostage until I saw her look down at her chest. I panicked for a moment, but managed to take control of the situation. I gently patted her chest and with a slightly shaky voice said:
“The drink seems to have calmed your heart a bit ... it’s still above normal, but not as bad as it was two minutes ago.”
“But what has it done to my head?” she ventured.
She was still visibly shaken and trembling a bit. I drew her close and stroked her cheek.
“I’m sorry mommy.”
“It’s awright baby,” she said, leaning her head onto my shoulder.