Cleaning Cucumbers

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The familiar scent of Mum's cooking welcomed me home, casting away the lingering monotony of school. As I entered the kitchen, the warmth of spices and the promise of a culinary adventure enveloped me. "Mum, I'm back!" I called out, excitement bubbling within me, as I knew we would be alone in the house for the next couple of hours. I had a plan on how to combine a couple of triggers and I was hoping for a great sexual experience.

Mum emerged from a cloud of aromatic steam, a welcoming smile on her face.

"Ryan, dear! How was school today?"

"Same old, Mum," I replied, shrugging off my backpack. "But I've been looking forward to this all day." The kitchen, aglow with the soft hues of sunset, beckoned us to our shared haven.

Mum handed me an apron with a playful twinkle.

"Today, my sous chef, we're making chicken curry. A family favourite—you're ready to master it."

Her tall, statuesque frame carried an air of strength and confidence, complemented by a toned physique that spoke to a dedication to well-being. Cascading down her back, her long, dark hair added a touch of timeless elegance to her presence. Her bright eyes, shimmering with intelligence and warmth, reflect a depth of wisdom acquired through life's myriad experiences. While I was putting on my apron, she started casually unbuttoning her shirt and running me through the plan for today’s cooking session. I could see that underneath her apron, her hands were undoing the whole length of her shirt and, to my surprise, she pulled it open and freed her giant tits. It was just too bad that she was wearing an apron, but I could see plenty of side boob and confirm that she was not wearing a bra.

A persistent sense of guilt gnawed at me as I was to deploy my plan for today. Mum, a constant source of warmth and caretaking, juggles the roles of both parent and homemaker. The weight of the realisation settled in—I was taking more than I contributed. The guilt deepened with each day, acknowledging that I was benefiting from her tireless efforts without reciprocating in kind, and now to make things worse, I was using the powers of the 8ball to do the unthinkable. This unwarranted guilt became an undercurrent, underscoring the awareness that her love, generously given, merited more than mere appreciation. As the household buzzed with the routines of daily life, I grappled with the realisation that my gratitude alone was insufficient. Mum, the anchor of our home, deserved more than intermittent acknowledgments—she deserved my active involvement in shouldering the responsibilities that maintain our home as a haven of comfort and support. Yet, an unsettling truth lurks beneath the surface—I am aware of my tendency to keep taking advantage of this situation, my guilt becoming a silent accomplice to the ongoing imbalance. I was going to see through the mastery of the triggers and taking control of this fabulous woman, but the least I could do was to contribute more in the house and help this family be happy and united, all things considered.

Mum buzzed with the anticipation of a culinary lesson, and her enthusiasm was infectious as she gathered the ingredients for the salad. I, for my part, was already feeling horny and decided to take my trousers off while my mum was opening cupboards and taking pots out on the kitchen counter. My erection was creating a tent on my apron but, as she turned to face me, I was not bothered as I knew the passive triggers prevented my mum from noticing. She seemed to freeze for a second and, lost in thought, her eyes vaguely ran through my crotch area.

"Alright, Ryan, let's get started with the cucumbers," she said, her eyes sparkling with a blend of patience and excitement, while she grabbed one large cucumber and held it up with grace.

I nodded, eager to dive into the task at hand. Mum ran a finger along the vegetable, its vibrant green skin begging to be transformed into crisp slices.

"Now, peeling a cucumber is an art, my dear," she declared, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Watch closely, and then you'll give it a go”.

I was already stroking my cock over the apron.

With a practised ease, Mum took the cucumber in her hands and held it over a chopping board, and the peeler glided effortlessly along its length. The skin peeled away in thin, even strips, revealing the fresh, pale green underneath. I observed, hoping to absorb the technique like a sponge. At every stroke of the peeler, I softly stroke my cock following her rhythm.

"Your turn, Ryan," Mum encouraged, passing me the peeler and standing behind me.

Eager to impress, I attempted to replicate her graceful movements, but my efforts resulted in uneven, jagged strips. I was playing dumb, of course. I wanted this arousing situation to last as long as possible. Mum chuckled, her laughter ringing through the kitchen. Gingerly, she slid her hand under my apron and got hold of my raging cock. She gave it a little squeeze and a couple of rubs before letting go of it. I assumed that was the work of the trigger that makes her try to keep my erection going.

"No worries, love. It takes a bit of practice." She said.

Undeterred, she stood beside me, her hands now moving to the chopping board and guiding mine.

"Feel the cucumber in your hands, and let the peeler follow the natural curve. Apply a bit of pressure, but not too much. You want to remove the skin, not the entire cucumber," she explained, her hands demonstrating the delicate dance between pressure and precision. I was in the meanwhile rubbing my crotch to one of the kitchen cabinets.

I tried again, and Mum's guidance proved invaluable. Soon we dropped the peeler and her hands overlapped mine, showing me the subtle adjustments needed for a smoother peel of that lustrous curvy vegetable. Mum placed the cucumber standing on the chopping board, propping it up with one hand and stroking the whole wonderful thing with the other. She intertwined her fingers with mine and showed me the pace, up and down, slowly and sensually, to bring a shine to that cucumber. We stayed there in silence, right on the kitchen counter, stroking that cucumber for a totally unnecessary number of times.

"Alright, Ryan, let's give our cucumber a good wash," Mum said, a glint of mischief in her eyes, breaking the spell just when I was to spontaneously combust.

She guided me to the sink, and I could feel the weight of the cucumber in my hands, its vibrant green skin promising freshness, and the pulsations of my cock lifting my apron. There was a clear wet patch where all my pre-cum had soaked the cloth.

"Start by rinsing it under the running water," Mum instructed.

Her hands mirrored the gentle strokes she wanted me to employ. I pretended to follow suit, but my efforts lacked the finesse Mum effortlessly demonstrated.

"Hmm, not bad," Mum commented, her eyes dancing with amusement, "but let's try to get into the nooks and crannies a bit more. Dirt can be sneaky."

She took the cucumber, and I watched as her hands worked their magic, water cascading over the vegetable. She gave me back the cucumber and dried her hands with a tea towel before sliding one hand under my apron while I washed the vegetable. She took hold of my cock and started stroking it, her fingers exploring the sensible head of my penis.

"See how I'm getting into these folds here?" Mum pointed out, her fingers expertly navigating the skin of my cock. "That's where dirt loves to hide. Give it a try."

I nodded, determined to conquer the art of cucumber cleansing. My fingers fumbled, and the water splashed a bit too enthusiastically. Mum chuckled, a reassuring sound. She was giving me a proper handjob by this point.

"It's okay, Ryan. Takes a bit of practice." Her voice was all natural and reassuring, as if nothing naughty was happening under my apron.

With renewed determination, I continued trying to follow Mum's instructions. However, my attempts seemed to leave more water on the counter than on the cucumber. I was finding it hard to focus on the task, but I was afraid of stopping, as if the pretence was needed for her to keep jerking me off. When I was about to cum, Mum stopped and stepped closer, as she moved her hands to the sink, gently covering mine.

"Here, let me guide you," she said, her fingers showing me the right amount of pressure. "Imagine you're giving the cucumber a little shower."

We went through the process again, Mum's hands a comforting presence over mine.

"That's it," she encouraged. "Feel the water flow over it, cleansing it. You're getting the hang of it."

I needed to cum badly. I intended to have a pleasurable sexual afternoon with Mum, not a blue-balling ****. We continued this dance of rinsing and cleaning, Mum's hands guiding mine at every step.

"You want to be thorough," she said, her voice a steady guide, with a little glint in her eye. "We're not just washing, we're showing the cucumber some love."

Despite my fake struggles, Mum's patient guidance transformed the task into a shared experience. The cucumber, now thoroughly cleansed, sat on the counter, a symbol of the persistence and the joy found in learning from Mum's hands. We both stood there for a few moments in silence, staring at the cucumber, my apron stained and tented, and her apron barely containing her breasts. The kitchen echoed with the gentle rhythm of water, turning a seemingly simple task into a cherished memory of culinary soft porn.

“Well, washing and rubbing that cucumber was fun.” Mum said with a smile, obviously happy about the quality time with her son. “But this is just the beginning, we have a whole dinner to prepare. We need to hurry up a bit, wouldn’t you agree?”

Not quite, I did not agree at all. It was time to try one of the triggers and see if I could get a release.

“Absolutely, Mum, there is plenty still to do.” I answered. “But I am not feeling all that well...”

“What’s the matter, love?” She turned to face me with a worried look in her eyes, place one hand on my arm.

“I have an ache that I did not have when I got home from school”. I said with a quiet voice.

“Where does it ache?” She asked and she looked at me with that professional persona she has at work.

“Well, I am a bit embarrassed to say…” I lied.

“Don’t worry, Ryan, I am here to help, you can tell me” She answered, but with a slight tone of caution in her voice.

“You see, Mum, I have an ache on my testicles” I told her and her eyes opened wide ever so slightly. It was true that they were aching after all that activity with the cucumber.

“Oh.” She managed to say while her face went blank. The trigger was working its magic.

“Oh.” She repeated, smiling and waving one hand. “Don’t worry, baby, Mummy can help you with that ache. I will give you a very careful massage that will sooth your ache away”.

She then reached up behind her neck and pulled off the top of the apron so it rested on her lap and her two magnificent boobs were out in the open. They were just perfectly round, with the right amount of sag and full of flesh. Her light-coloured nipples were large and erect, and Ryan struggled to contain the urge to jump on them.

“Come here and sit down on the kitchen table, sweetie”. She instructed.

She moved away some objects and instructed me to sit on the table, by its edge, with my legs hanging. She then moved my apron away and did not show any special reaction to my swollen cock pointing directly to her face. As she probably did everyday at work, she took a professional interest in assessing her patient. She spread my legs and bent over to take a good look at my balls, which were undoubtedly swollen with a good amount of **** sperm. She used two fingers to slowly manipulate my testicles, inspecting every angle of them.

For God knows what stupid reason, I suddenly worried that I was not properly clean in and around my genitals. This was my mother after all, and she quite often told me off and demanded that I improve my hygiene standards. Because of those silly thoughts, my erection started to deflate, slowly but steadily, right as my Mum was fumbling with my nuts. I then went into panic as the triggers prevented my Mum from seeing my erection, but I don’t think it would work if my penis was flaccid right in front of her face. Would she then snap out of the spell and freak out with the situation?

Luckily for me, she had also noticed my diminishing erection and one of the passive triggers went into action, the one that compels her to keep my erection hard and shiny. So, while still looking at my balls, her hand went up to catch my cock in its landing flight and started to slowly jerk it. With just a few careful strokes I was back in full mast but she kept going a bit longer. The 8ball triggers were wonderfully useful.

When my Mum seemed happy with the level of hardness of my cock, she let go of it and went back to focus on my testicles. My cock stayed right there, proudly and explosively pointing at my gorgeous mother.

“Nothing seems out of the ordinary, Ryan”. She said and then smiled with a cheeky look, “Most likely you have a case of blue balls”.

“Blue balls? What’s that?” I pretended not to be a creature of planet Earth.

“Oh, it’s nothing. When a man experiences intense arousal for a long period of time, he may get pain on his testicles and lower belly if he has not ejaculated.” She informed me, slightly blushing.

I loved it when she was so professional and natural about this type of stuff.

“Next time you find yourself in a very arousing situation, make sure to either stop it early, or to reach climax.” She continued to inform me.

Note taken, Mum.

“I will alleviate your ache with a little massage, please let me know if you experience any pain”. She said while putting a hand on my chest. “Please lean back on the table and lift up your legs.”

“What? Why?”. I asked.

“I need to have good access to your testicles, of course.” She said, as a matter of fact.

While a bit embarrassing, I thought this might be an interesting experience. I leaned back, flat on the table, and lifted my legs, holding them with my hands right behind my bent knees. My Mum had direct and unhindered access to my balls. And to my butthole, at that. I hoped I was squeaky clean down at the crack. I could not remember how thorough I had been on my last trip to the bathroom. I am normally quite clean on that front, but sometimes I rush things, and the results might not be as spotless as you want them in a situation just like this one.

Those thoughts got interrupted by a slight contact to my nuts. I lifted my head to see my Mum towering over my belly and holding one of her boobs against my testicles. She had directed one of her delicious nipples straight onto my balls and was poking them with it. I guess that’s the only type of boobjob one can give to someone’s balls. Her hair flowed over my belly and cock as she looked down on her work, gently moving her tit around my sack, caressing and massaging my balls with her erect nipple.

While I liked what was happening, it did not quite satisfy my sexual urges.

“Hey Mum”. I thought I could try something else.

“Mm, yes?” She raised her head, but kept poking my balls with her nipple.

“I think I made a mess”. I confessed.

“What did you do this time?” Now she stopped the massage and looked at me with apprehension.

“I am afraid I did not do a good job when I went to the toilet earlier, and my butthole is still a bit dirty. Would you clean it for me, please?” I asked.

Her jaw dropped for half a second, as I don’t think she had heard such a sentence in her life before today. But, as always, the triggers got to work immediately.

“But of course, my love, Mum is happy to clean after you!” She responded with a smile.

She proceeded to kneel on the floor, and without a second thought she put her nose right by my arsehole, giving it a sniff.

“Well, indeed it has a pungent smell, mainly sweat I would say”. I heard her say from my position. “It certainly needs to be cleaned.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” I said, encouraging.

That’s when she surprised me by giving my butthole a timid lick. I had imagined she would grab a damp cloth or something, but I guess she decided to be expeditive. Then she licked again, this time a bit longer and with a little bit more pressure. It felt great, I have to be honest. She licked me around the hole a few more times before she started pressing into the hole itself with a stiffer tongue. She was pushing in and it was giving me spasms of pleasure. Knowing that in this state she is not aware of what I am doing unless I touch her, I grabbed my cock and started stroking it slowly. She was going deep with her tongue. I wondered if was losing my anal virginity to my mum’s mouth, that's how deep she was trying to go. I could hear her moaning slightly and swallowing her saliva between dives. It was delightful. I was pumping my cock hard now, I had decided to no longer postpone busting my nut and went for it. In one of her explorations of my star-hole, I starting cumming hard and abundantly.

“Oh, jesus fuck!” I cried.

“Watch your language, young man!” She chided, but kept going down on my hole while I shot my last drops on my drenched stomach. There was cum all over me and plenty on the kitchen table.

What an orgasm I had just experienced. I realised that all that foreplay with the cucumber was totally worth it, as it built and delayed my pleasure, to then reward me with an even greater climax. That was a lesson for the future. I was thinking all of that while catching my breath on the table and my mum still going at my butthole as if nothing had happened. I soaked my finger with a bit of my cum and moved it slowly towards my arsehole. On one of her breathing stops, I spread my cum on the rims of the hole, which I noticed, by the way, was a bit dilated. Who would have known that I was into salad tossing?

“What are you doing, Ryan? You are making it dirty again!” She ascolded me.

“Sorry Mum, I thought it might help to clean it well”. I improvised.

“Not at all, it makes it worse!”. She responded right before bringing her tongue back on the cum-coated arsehole. This time she did some sucking effort with her lips and it felt great, a bit chilly even, as she lapped up my cum off my arse. My cock was hard again…

“Ok, done. Get up now.” She instructed.

With a bit of effort I got myself up and off the table, standing right in front of her. My apron went down in place again, covering my sticky belly and my raging cock.

“Come give me a hug, darling.” She asked, pulling me in.

We embraced for a few blissful seconds.

“Do you mind if I go get changed, Mum?” I asked, while she was buttoning her shit back up. I wasn't entirely sure if I would be able to walk.

“Of course, darling, you go ahead and I will finish up here. It was lovely to spend such quality time together.” She smiled at me as I left the kitchen.

Later that day, memories of our candid conversations flooded my mind. My mum, with her warm, understanding gaze, always knew how to draw me into a heart-to-heart. We often found ourselves tangled in discussions about school, a topic that had become a subtle dance of concern and understanding.

"You seemed a bit off about school today," Mum observed, a comforting smile playing on her lips. The clatter of dishes being put away provided a gentle backdrop to our conversation. I sighed, recounting the day's monotony.

"Yeah, it's just the same old routine," I admitted, tracing the rim of my tea mug with my fingertips. Mum's eyes, filled with a mixture of empathy and curiosity, beckoned me to open up.

"Anything specific bothering you, love?" she inquired, her voice a soothing melody in the familiar kitchen ambiance. I hesitated, wondering how to articulate the feeling of discontent that had nestled itself in my chest.

"It's just... I find it all a bit dull, you know?" I finally confessed. "School, the classes—it feels like I'm going through the motions without any real purpose."

Mum nodded, her understanding gaze inviting me to share more. "Sometimes, I wish I could see the bigger picture, you know? Understand why I'm doing all this."

She reached across the table, her hand finding mine. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes about the comfort she sought to provide. "Ryan, it's okay to feel that way. School can be challenging, and it's normal to question things. Maybe we can figure out a way to make it more engaging for you. What do you think?"

Her words resonated, a comforting reminder that even in the mundane struggles of school, Mum was there with an open heart, ready to navigate my sexual urges together.