Being an English major at school, Sherry loved to read. She read Dickens, of course, as well as Flaubert, and Tolstoi. Overall, she preferred Victorian literature where she found a gold mine of smut. This overdose of smut affected her mind, you might say, to the point where she masturbated heavily and often. Sherry had read all the paperback romance novels she borrowed from the public library. She went to the library in the afternoon hoping to meet someone, but these days all you find are seniors asleep, pretending to be reading the encyclopedia.
She married a man who gave her a son, but otherwise he was not well read. She called him 'an illiterate redneck'. Eventually the verbal abuse he endured convinced him he'd do better to run off with Flossie, a woman who had three kids and infinite patience. This left Sherry, a highly educated woman, with an insatiable pussy. And no real man in her life.
She reached a point of desperation where she found herself reading the Bible, looking for smutty passages. Stumbling across the story of Lot and his two daughters, she noted the incest overtones, although it was sketchy. But it also left many questions unanswered. In Genesis (19) we find this lurid story of Lot and his daughters. (You may remember Lot's wife had turned to a pillar of salt.) Somehow the Lord tells Lot's two daughters to get the old man drunk and then have sex with him. That is, while he is supposedly asleep. They slept with him on two consecutive nights, one girl at a time. Because the girls conceived, this accounts for the beginning of the tragic Judean race. The story seems bogus because unless the two children fucked each other, or their mothers, we have no population growth.
Reading these lurid passages made Sherry more horny than usual. She had an over-developed clitoris which might have been one reason her ex-husband couldn't keep up with her sexual demands. It was stubby and short, that is, until she got aroused. Then it swelled to three times its' size. Gloria, her close friend, was enthralled by the little cock, so their friendship was based on both of them loving the ballet, and Gloria worshipping Sherry's impressive clit. They double dated occasionally, but most men didn't like ballet, preferring boxing matches or football games. Those who did like ballet were gay, of course. That left both girls to amuse each other, which in itself wasn't bad. They licked each other joyously, both climaxing over and over until they passed out.
Visualizing two nubile teenagers having sex with their father made her pussy gush. How did they get his pecker up, if he was drunk and asleep? Clearly this was a miracle. She tossed her Bible aside and concentrated on her own pussy. It did not require blind faith to understand she needed a man.
She moved her legs apart slowly. Her fingers crept downward into a thick forest of dark brown hair. Her pussy was a work of art -- covered with thick, soft curls. Lurking under the curls we found her deep pink outer labia, which became a deeper red when infused with blood. As they became thicker, they parted, allowing the inner labia to appear like the wings of a butterfly. She used a hand mirror to inspect her pussy every day, expecting maybe a little man with a big dick to leap out at her.
"Oh god, why do I feel so lonely?" she cried aloud. This was a rhetorical call, her not expecting an answer from the Divinity.
She turned on her side, lifting her upper leg and lightly cupped herself, fingering herself to an orgasm. Moving her finger up to her breast, she lightly touched her swollen nipple, and pressed it. Wiggling her finger back and forth she teased the thickening protrusion until it became a shiver of excitement rushing up her spine, and spreading across her shoulders and breasts.
Sherry closed her eyes, her teeth biting into her lower lips. Moving her finger back down, she slowly stabbed into her vagina, bringing with it a shower of thrills. Her breasts were swollen against her nightie, her body temperature was elevated, and she was beginning to sweat. Her nightie clung to her, as she continued running her hand back and forth between her legs. Parting her legs, she lay there working her finger feverishly in and out of her vagina, until her breathing became ragged.
She played with her clitoris so much it became raw, and oversensitive. The throbbing driving her crazy. She'd been without a man since her husband left her. He told her he couldn't keep up with her constant abuse and then complaining about not meeting her needs.
This particular Saturday evening, she happened to be thinking of her son. Robby was an 18 year-old nerdy college freshman. It was late Saturday night, and he had been to a frat party. He wasn't really a frat kind of guy, but he went along, submitted to hazing, and ate a bowl of spaghetti being told it was worms. The usual bullshit. He hadn't found a girl who appealed to him. He really wanted someone who was a younger version of his mother -- full kissable lips, busty and with a nice plump ass. It was wishful thinking.
Sherry pondered the possibilities: her handsome son, almost six feet tall, was good looking and slim. Sure, he wore glasses, but he was hung like a horse. She found his waste basket full of cum-filled Kleenex every morning when she made his bed. She had no intentions of discussing it, because she knew what he was doing was normal. At least he wasn't a panty sniffing pervert who beat off into his mother's soiled panties.
Every mother witnesses this rite of passage -- her boy growing up, and her watching him become a man, while she manages to sneak peeks at his maturing affair.
Using her vibrator did not remind her of her son. It reminded her of a heartless pneumatic drill. She needed her soft teasing fingers to remind her of his thick velvety shaft. She could see herself stoking him, playing with his thick velvety foreskin, stretching it over his purple knob, and squeezing out precum. These erotic thoughts flashed through her mind like shooting stars. She could hardly stand it any longer. Which was worse, the itching in her cunt, or the continuing throbbing in her nipples? Luckily she had a good mind, but good only for conjuring up salacious images. She wanted him loving her flesh, worshipping her as the voluptuous goddess she was.
She had a mental image where she was washing Philip's swollen knob with her soft tongue. She visualized herself completely engulfing his cock, rolling her tongue around the mushroom knob. A shiver of anticipation ran through her body, as her breathing intensified, her fingers moving faster. As they say, when you wish for something hard enough --
Her bedroom door opened, and Robby entered. He was in his pajamas.
Quickly, she pulled her hands away from her pussy, and flattened her palms against her breasts. The odor of cunt was strong.
"Why Robby, what are you doing in my room?" she asked, surprised.
"Oh mom, I couldn't sleep," he said, "I had a shitty time tonight. Maybe I'm being too fussy. There were girls at the party, drinking a lot, and flirting -- you know, the usual routine. But I don't like girls who drink to the point they're ready to screw any guy who comes along. I like an old fashioned girl ..."
"Dear, why don't you come over here and sit on the edge of the bed? " she replied. "Tell me about it ..."
Robby walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, and as he sat there talking, he spoke to her with appreciation.
"You've been a great mom. That's the problem. I was hoping I'd meet someone like you. Sort of sweet and sexy ... " She liked being told she was sexy.
"I know how you feel," his mother said softly, "most men want to find someone like their mother." She went on, "I've been alone a lot these days, since your father ran off with that floozie." She sighed. "Flossie the floozie ..." She giggled.
"Sometimes, I wish I had a man again in my life --- someone like my son to love."
"So you do get hungry for love too?" he asked his mother, his eyes fastening on her in a new way.
"Very hungry," she admitted tersely. "For physical love too ..."
"Mom," he said, "is it wrong to masturbate?"
"No, it isn't," she said. "Just about everybody masturbates now ..."
"But some people say it's wrong, don't they?"
"People say a lot of things, Robby, and you've got to learn not to pay attention to most of it."
"But what can you do when you try to go to sleep, and you toss and turn. I can't get to sleep because I want to play with myself -- it's hard and dripping some stuff. When I touch it, the foreskin is slippery and nice. Then I can't help it. It spurts and then I'm back to square one, waiting for it to get hard again. Then it starts again, and I have to do it again ... I end up with about three hours sleep." He didn't mention his grades were so poor, the dean asked him to resign.
"Is that your problem, Robby?" she asked him bluntly. "Getting more sleep? Or masturbating less?"
He didn't have an answer, but it was obvious.
Even with the dim light of her bedside lamp, she could see the tent in his pajamas.
"Yes, mom, that's it!" He added, "I jerk off, but it's hard again in a few minutes ..."
"Son," she said, "maybe, maybe I could help you. What do you think? "
"Oh, could you?"
She looked serious for a moment, and then, she stared at the circus tent in his pj's. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph ..." she muttered. "Is that all you??" She reached out and used her sense of touch to measure its size through the sheer pajamas. It felt like a baby's arm.
"You seem to be very well endowed, just like your father was."
"Did dad have a big dick too?"
