For better, For worse, For richer, For poorer

After the call, you glance at the clock on the wall. It's only 1 pm, so you still have some time to kill. You look around the room, taking note of some dust and loose threads on the furniture.

"Might as well tidy up a bit," you mutter to yourself, grabbing the vacuum cleaner from the closet.

The task is simple and mindless, and your thoughts wander as you move around the house, cleaning up. You wonder if your mom will make it home by 5 pm, since her escapades in the bathroom stall might have disrupted her schedule somewhat. The thought of her masturbating in a public restroom is still extremely hot, but also presents a slight problem. The compatibility thing must have turned up her horniness dial to eleven, which is an issue in a professional work environment.

Before you notice it, all the floors in the house are clean, the windows are shining, and the laundry is done. You changed the bedsheets, watered the plants, dusted off the shelves, mowed the lawn, and cleaned the kitchen. Everything looks brand new and fresh.

House cleaning complete!

It's 5 pm now, and you decide to prepare dinner for Lisa. She sent you a message saying that she'd be home at 6 pm, so you start cooking. You've made this recipe before, and it's one of her favorites: A rich tomato sauce with ground meat, peppers, garlic, and herbs. Easy enough, yet impressive looking.

After 5 minutes, you realize your problem: Cooking is pretty hard when your mind only considers cum as food. You stare at the red sauce in the pot, unsure how to proceed. The smell is acidic and sweet, which seems about right. But you've no clue about the salt and pepper levels. If they're too low, it would taste bland. Too much, and it would be too salty. Shrugging, you try to guess based on what you remember of the taste.

When the door opens, you're almost done. You've added some parsley and basil, and you've given it a hearty stir. It looks about right, but what do you know?

Two arms grab you from behind, squeezing you gently. A head presses against your neck. Something wet and warm trails down your back, followed by a shaky breath. She holds you so tightly that you can barely move, and you get the distinct sensation of clothes, not skin, against you. Something's wrong.

"Mom?" you ask, turning around. She lets go of you just long enough for you to turn around, and then just latches herself onto you again even harder. Her face is buried in your chest, and she's trembling. "Mom, what's wrong? What happened?"

She doesn't answer, instead letting out a muffled sob. Then, the floodgates open. She starts to cry loudly, clinging to you desperately. You don't make out any words, but you can hear her voice wavering as she sobs uncontrollably.

At a loss, you wrap your arms around her and pat her back.

"There, there," you say softly. "It's alright."

"It's not!" she sobs, her voice muffled. "It's not alright! I'm so sorry, Doug. I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"What's going on, Mom?" you ask, trying to keep the panic out of your voice. "What happened? Did something happen at work?"

"I... I..." she stammers, sniffing loudly. "I fucked up, Doug. I fucked up so bad. I'm such a failure!"

"Hey, hey, calm down," you whisper, stroking her hair. "Take a deep breath, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Let's take a minute, yeah?"

Lisa nods, taking a deep breath. You feel her body shudder slightly as she does so.

"You're not a failure, Mom," you continue, slowly pushing her away. "Tell me what happened."

Her voice is the tiniest you've ever heard it.

"I got fired."

"What?"

"I got fired," she repeats, her voice breaking. "Someone sat in the stall next to mine, and they heard me. They heard everything! Oh god, Doug, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Alright, wait, let's calm down," you reply, leading her to the kitchen table. "Let's sit down and talk about this, okay? Take a seat, some food will make you feel better."

She sits down, her face streaked with tears. She stares at the pot on the stove, then looks up at you with wide eyes.

"Did you make this? For me?"

"Yes," you nod, putting a plate in front of her. "I figured you'd be hungry when you came home. Now, eat."

This causes another wave of sobs, but she doesn't protest. Instead, she digs in, eating greedily. The sight of your mom stuffing her face with food makes you smile. After a few minutes, she seems to calm down a bit. Her shoulders stop shaking, and she leans back in her chair.

"Thank you," she mutters, still sniffling. "I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been here."

"So, what happened?" you ask, leaning over the table. "Start from the beginning."

"Well, there's not much to tell," Lisa begins, wiping her cheeks. "You know what happened in the toilet stall. But after that, I had to go to the conference room to meet with the boss. And well, he was very blunt. He said that I can't use my job as an excuse for masturbating during work hours. That it's completely unacceptable, and that I should leave immediately."

"Wait, what?" you interrupt, furrowing your brow. "They fired you because you were touching yourself?"

"Basically," she nods, looking ashamed. "He said that my sexual frustration would affect my performance, and that it's not a good look for the company. So, he gave me one hour to gather my belongings and leave the building. I thought about trying to argue with him, but I also felt like I deserved it. I knew it was wrong, and I knew it was going to lead to this. I fucked up, Doug. I really fucked up."

You shake your head, unable to come up with words. Instead, you get up and walk around the table to hug her. She wraps her arms around you, holding you tightly.

"It's not your fault, mom," you whisper, rubbing her back. "Don't blame yourself. You have nothing to feel bad about."

"I just want to disappear," she sobs quietly. "I don't want to exist anymore."

"Hey, now," you reply, pulling away slightly. "That's not true. You're a good person. You're kind and beautiful, and you always put your family before yourself. You're a great mom, and a wonderful woman. This isn't the end of the world. We'll figure something out, okay?"

"But how?" she asks, looking up at you with puffy eyes. "I lost my job, Doug. I don't have a career anymore. How can I provide for you and your sisters? How can I be a mother? What am I supposed to do?"

"Again, we'll figure it out," you reply, giving her a small smile. "Eat your soup, alright? It'll make you feel better."

She nods, sniffing loudly. She eats some more, then wipes her face with a tissue.

"Thank you," she mutters, blowing her nose. "For everything. You're such a good son. I don't deserve you."

"Stop that," you chide gently, kissing her on the forehead. "Let's focus on the positive. We're gonna get through this. Alright?"

"Alright," she nods, sniffing again. "Can you pass me some more bread?"

"Coming right up!"

After a while, Lisa looks like a proper human being again. The dinner is over, and you put the plates in the dishwasher. Then you do your best to supply her with all the Chardonnay that she wants, which is surprisingly a lot. She downs two glasses of it in quick succession, and seems much calmer after that.

"Feeling better?" you ask, pushing her towards the couch.

"Yes," she nods, letting herself fall onto it. "A lot. Thanks."

You sit down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leans against you, sighing softly.

"This was a shitty day," she mutters, closing her eyes. "I just want to go to bed and sleep for a week."

"Go ahead," you reply, stroking her hair. "I'll clean up here. You rest. I'll be here in the morning."

"You're sure you don't mind?" she asks, looking up at you.

"I'm sure. Go. I'll take care of everything."

"Thank you, dear." She gets up, kisses you on the cheek, then leaves the room.

You watch her leave, and turn to the kitchen. As you clean up the remnants of dinner, you let your thoughts wander. Your mom just got fired from her job because she masturbated during work. In the toilet. At her workplace. A lawyer that took her career seriously, and worked hard for many years. All for nothing, because she couldn't control her sexual urges. You feel bad for her, and in a way, for all womankind.

After the kitchen is clean, you get ready for bed. When you enter the bedroom, you find your mom lying on her side, not quite asleep yet. You crawl into the bed next to her, and she instinctively pulls you closer. You feel her chin resting on your shoulder, and her soft breathing on your neck. You also feel her soft dick touching your butt, but for the first time, you're unsure whether to push into it or away from it.

"Do you regret it? What happened today?" you ask quietly, turning your head slightly.

"No," she whispers, holding you tighter. "I don't regret it. I know it was wrong, and it's something I have to live with now. But I don't regret it."

Her meaty cock pressing between your butt cheeks never felt better.