Chapter 2

While I stroked, my prick slid into my mother’s juicy pussy. My hand squeezed hard, fantasizing that it was Mom’s tight pussy surrounding my cock. When my prick was fully engulfed, I twisted my cap once again before stroking like a madman. After a dozen strokes, an image of Mom’s smiling, beautiful face formed, triggering my eruption. Streams of cum shot out my tip, landing on my belly. I continued to milk my cock, creating a large pool of baby batter in the middle of my sunken stomach.

A sudden wave of guilt swept through me as I realized that my hand provided more pleasure than making love to the girls I had dated. I knew it wasn’t because of my technique—it was from fantasizing about my mother.

Grabbing my shorts and T-shirt, I wiped off the remnants of my orgasm. Throwing them in the laundry basket, I felt confident Mom wouldn’t find them as I’d been doing my own laundry for the last few months. After quickly dressing, I dashed off to work, barely making it on time.

As I immersed myself in the task of baking, the aromas wafting from the oven filled the commercial kitchen with a mixture of pleasing smells. While I enjoyed the act of measuring, mixing, and kneading, my mind inevitably wandered to the inappropriate attraction I had of my mother. While I fell deeper in love with her, she didn’t appear to reciprocate my feelings. The fear of jeopardizing our relationship by succumbing to my emotions resurfaced, serving as a reminder to tread carefully in the future.

On Friday night, Mom treated me to one of my favorite meals, marking the joyous conclusion of the work week. As we sat down to dinner, our conversation flowed effortlessly, brimming with laughter and warmth. It challenged me to tear my gaze away from her captivating smile that evening. After clearing the table, we retreated to our rooms to shower.

Repeating my morning ritual, I emptied my balls, the only difference was that I covered the stall wall, rather than my stomach. Hopefully, by relieving my sexual tension, I wouldn’t be distracted throughout the evening. As usual, it didn’t help as much as I had hoped.

As we cozied up on the couch together, Mom nestled close, her warmth enveloping me. The gentle touch of her flannel cotton nightgown against my bare arms was a soothing sensation, adding an extra layer of comfort to our quiet evening of watching sitcoms. It wasn’t long before she rested her head on my shoulder and drifted off.

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her closely. A heavy sigh escaped her lips before her breathing deepened. My gaze drifted down to the open gap in her robe, which exposed several inches of the insides of her breasts. My prick jerked with a mind of his own, disregarding the attention I gave him during my shower in an attempt to keep him at bay for the evening.

I leaned down and inhaled deeply, her fragrant hair shampoo wafting through my nostrils. My prick remained fully hard through the next thirty minutes. A burst of laughter from the comedy show abruptly awakened her.

“Wow, guess I dozed off. Sorry, I’m such poor company,” she apologized.

“It’s fine, Mom,” I replied. “You deserve to relax after working all day and then treating me to that big meal. I need to hit the sack anyway, as I have a big day tomorrow.”

We rose and when we hugged, my tented sweatpants bumped against her, but she didn’t acknowledge it. With our heads side-by-side, I snuck a whiff of her intoxicating natural scent.

Back in bed, I stroked off another load with the fresh memories from the evening.

We spent all day Saturday doing chores. While I attended to the outside areas, Mom cleaned the house, and to my dismay, ran both of our laundry baskets through the washer and dryer. Thankfully, she didn’t mention my crusty underwear, but I quickly convinced myself that most mothers wouldn’t be bothered or upset when encountering their sons’ signs of adulthood.

On Sunday, the hours languished until after lunch. Restless, Mom fidgeted on the couch, her impatience getting the best of her. She turned to me and exclaimed, “You mentioned you had something planned for today. Surprise me.”

“Alright,” I replied with a mischievous grin. “Prepare yourself for some exercise. Dress accordingly.”

“Tennis shoes it is,” Mom eagerly chimed in, bounding off to her room to prepare. Meanwhile, I headed to my room to change. I threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top, appropriate attire for a sunny, warm afternoon.

When I met Mom, I did a double-take as my eyes soaked up her beauty. Her short tennis skirt flattered her long, toned legs. When my gaze traveled upward, I briefly paused on her tight blouse, the outer edges of her bra pressed against the thin material. When I ended on her blushing face, she smiled before her eyes scanned my hairy legs.

“Looks like we’re ready to go,” she chirped, strolling to the door. I grabbed my backpack and headed out. We walked to the park and when we were at a large grassy area, I extracted a frisbee from the bag.

“Seriously?” Mom exclaimed. “Don’t you think I’m a little old for that?”

“Not at all, Mom,” I replied. “You’re in great shape and I thought it’d be nice to do something that I enjoyed during my childhood.”

“I do recall that we had a lot of fun. It was a cheap way to pass the time and it kept us in shape. I’m game if you are,” she shouted as she ran a distance before turning.

I spun it toward her and surprisingly, she leaped to the side and caught it, her smile broadening from her achievement. We tossed it back and forth, each of us working up a sweat. On one of my throws, it went by her and landed several feet behind her. When she bent to pick it up, her short skirt rose, revealing the backs of her thighs.

My prick throbbed and being careful not to be too obvious, I intentionally flicked it past her every fifth or sixth time, enjoying the display of Mom’s bare legs. One time, she leaned over so far that her blue panties came into view. She lingered, before standing and tossing the frisbee back to me. After an hour, we decided we had enough exercise.

On the walk back, she enveloped her arm with mine. With each step, my arm bumped against her breast, adding to my excited state. “I haven’t had this much fun for years,” Mom exclaimed with a smile. “Thanks so much, Adam.”

“It was just as I remembered it. I loved the things we did together when growing up. I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I did,” I replied warmly.