Chapter 42 by LLation

What's next?

Getting ready for dinner with Sharon

You don’t remain in bed together long. That’s not because being in bed with Mom is unpleasant. Quite the opposite. But in the minutes stretching on from the moment the two of you had fucked and orgasmed and settled down to rest, the reality of your situation inevitably dawned on you. Slick with sweat. Exhausted. In a house with people who would almost certainly ask why you were like that if they caught you in your room together. Everything potentially hanging in the balance should the two of you be discovered.

And so you and her showered. Separately. You had gotten an eyeful of her naked juicy ass before she’d gotten dressed and left the room, though, and what an amazing sight that had been, with your cum oozing down her creamy white thigh. You can’t wait until you get to fuck her doggystyle. For a moment, you imagine Mom’s amazing ass jiggling as you slam your hips into it, fucking her on your bed again.

Your manhood twitches. Somehow, despite how much you’ve used it recently, you’re able to get hard yet again. Do you even have a refractory period anymore?

You shake your head, silently thanking Charles for the change if indeed he is responsible.

After you finish showering, you step out of the shower and towel yourself off. A feeling of déjà vu comes over you. It dissipates quickly. You’re different now, you realize. You’ve taken a step towards something new and exciting. A relationship with your own mother. A woman who’d for most of your life been almost a stranger to you despite the fact that you’d lived together for almost two decades.

In a way, it feels like you’ve just met her for the first time. You’re excited to get to know her better. To see and experience everything a relationship with her has to offer.

And yet she’s just one of several women who’ve caught your eye.

The time you’re supposed to meet Sharon for your date is fast approaching and you’re not even sure what you’re going to wear. And you don’t have much cash on hand, either. Damn, how are you supposed to impress a woman as beautiful as Sharon if you can’t even foot the bill for your portion of the meal at the very least? Aside from waiting for her next trance to do the work for you, you mean.

You bite your lip nervously.

Well, you’re pretty sure she’d offer to pay. But you don’t want that. You want her to see you as someone she can have a serious relationship with. As a strong, capable man.

You just really wish you had it within you to be that. If you’d just had a little money stashed away…

“Oh, I know! Didn’t Aunt Leslie give me like fifty dollars for my birthday?”

It’d been only two months ago. You can’t have spent it by now, could you?

You rush back to your room, not even bothering to wrap your towel around your waist. Luckily, it seems like no one’s in the hallway to observe your nakedness.

When you enter your room, you pause. Your eyes are inevitably drawn to the current mess that is your bed. The sheets are tousled and some of the pillows are strewn haphazardly across the bed and the floor.

You can’t help but picture your mother in it. Naked as the day she was born and slick with sweat. Her cheeks flushed. Her breath coming out in pants of exertion. She’d been incredible. Better than you could have ever imagined.

You shake yourself from your reverie. There'll be time for more of that later. For now, you need to see if you have any cash on hand.

Making your way to your desk, you open the topmost drawer and find your wallet. In it, you see your driver’s license and an old library card. Within the main fold of the wallet you find only a five dollar note and two singles.

“Well, shit.”

“Something wrong?”

“Huh?”

You spin around at the sound of the feminine voice to find your mother, brown-red hair damp. She’s wearing a gray hoodie and a pair of matching sweatpants. Neither hide her curves from you. You instinctively look her up and down, letting your eyes linger on her large breasts before meeting her gaze.

She smiles, taking in your state of relative undress. Her brilliant blue eyes drink in the sight of your bare torso. You feel like she’s eyeing you like a lioness would a particularly juicy slab of meat.

“Uh, no. Everything’s okay. Is… um, are you…?”

A quirk of her eyebrow.

“I’m feeling great, thanks. Don’t worry. I’m not about to run off on you again.”

A smile comes to your lips. Having sex with her felt amazing. That admission feels almost as good for some reason. It’s a different kind of pleasure. The sort that can only be brought about by a kind word or a promise.

“No?” you say.

She shakes her head.

“No.” She repeats you firmly. Something glimmers in her eyes then. Amusement?

“I think I know what the problem is.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

She gestures at your hands, still holding your pathetically light wallet.

Oh.

“The way you’re holding your wallet looking all morose is a dead giveaway. A little short on spending money?” she asks.

Your face flushes, and you resist the urge to look away from her to hide your embarrassment.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I was gonna try to pitch in if me and… uh, Jared ended up going out tonight, which we probably will. I don’t want to look like a complete asshole and **** him to pay for everything. I’m supposed to be an adult now. I’m supposed to be better than this. I-”

Your mother crosses the room and envelops you in a hug. She tightens her arms around your back, squashing her huge soft melons against your chest.

“Relax, honey. It’s going to be okay,” she presses her lips against your neck, leaving a lingering kiss. She separates from you to look in your eyes, her face inches away from yours. “If you ever need help you can always ask me, you know.”

Your erection throbs, your tent pole nudging between her legs. She doesn’t react.

“Thanks. It’s just…”

“You’re a man now and you know a man’s supposed to be able to look after himself. I get it. That’s a totally normal thing for you to feel, especially at your age, but being a strong, self-sufficient man doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help when the situation warrants it. Your father’s always had that problem. You’ve seen how he acts. If he ever has a problem he can’t fix, he always insists on figuring out how to do it himself, by himself.”

You nod sullenly, memories of your childhood playing in the space behind your eyes. Dad, can I help? Dad, that looks heavy. Dad, can you teach me to fix the sink so I can help if it ever breaks again?

No. No, I’ve got it. No, you’ll mess it up. So many refusals, instances of being brushed aside. Of being told implicitly that your help wasn’t wanted, that your willingness to assist meant nothing.

Then, when he’d inevitably get frustrated, he started to yell. Then drink. Then yell a bit louder.

A sinking feeling churns in your stomach.

Is that what you’re fated to turn into?

“I’m sorry Mom. I promise I’ll ask you for help when I need it.”

Her plump lips curve sexily.

“That’s all I ask,” she doesn’t back away. She just stands there in front of you, within kissing distance, her breath wafting against your skin.

“So how much money do you think you’ll need tonight?”

“Hm? Oh, I...” you trail off. Mom raises her eyebrows meaningfully, simultaneously daring you to go back on your promise while promising retribution if you do. You’re not getting out of this, so you might as well shoot her a respectable figure that she wouldn’t say no to. “I probably need around fifty, I think.”

Honestly, you have no idea how expensive the food is at that Italian restaurant, but you could definitely plan around a fifty dollar budget for yourself. Sharon can take care of herself. She’ll probably insist on it, knowing her. In an ideal world, you’d impress her by at least offering to pay for both your meals, but ultimately it doesn’t matter. Not while you still have the ability to do whatever you want to her mind through her trigger and during her trances.

Your mother gives you a peck on the cheek and says, “Okay, I’ll be back in a second.”

With a parting look, she turns to leave.

You stare at her ass, marveling at its size. The way she sways her wide hips as she walks, teasing you. Daring you to pin her up against the wall and have your way with her.

You do nothing. You’re almost certain you’re not far along enough with her to have her accept you manhandling her like that. She’d let you do that to her tits, sure, but anything else? Forget it. Despite your recent gains and Mom’s apparent change of tune, you still want to play this cautiously.

You look at the clock sitting on your bedside table. 5:27.

Damn, you’re supposed to be at Sharon’s by six. You’d better get a move on.

Clothes. You need something to wear. Something nice and respectable. But what? Mom and Dad had taken you to nice restaurants before. You’d always worn a collared shirt and pair of khakis.

You rifle through your closet and eventually find the clothes you’re looking for. A white-and-blue button down shirt and a pair of beige pants that you haven’t worn in a while. You only barely manage to start buttoning the shirt before your mother returns.

“Oh my,” she gasps when she enters the room, clutching something in her left hand. A blush spreads across her pale face. She shakes her head, turns, and closes your door, locking it with a snap. She turns to face you again, a look of recrimination on her face. “You shouldn’t leave your door open while you’re changing. What were you thinking?”

You do your best not to smirk.

“I was thinking about how I just experienced the most mind-blowing event of my life with the most amazing woman in my life.”

Her blush intensifies, and she looks away from you.

Adorable.

“S-still, that’s no excuse for you to be so… so… incautious!” she nods to herself, apparently satisfied that she’d found the right word. Her expression begins to regain some of its former steel.

You snort.

“What’s the worst that could happen, Mom? Tiff or Dad walk in on me and see me getting dressed, get grossed out and walk away?”

Well, Tiffany probably wouldn’t get grossed out. Quite the opposite actually. But you don’t tell Mom that.

She doesn’t answer for a few moments, and you catch a glint of frustration in her eyes.

Gotcha.

“Here,” she grabs your hand and roughly shoves something in it that feels like paper. “This should be enough.”

You open your palm and nearly gape.

“Mom, you gave me a hundred.”

She rolls her eyes at you.

“Well, I didn’t have any fifties and I’m all out of twenties and tens so you’re just going to have to make do with this.”

Her eyes tell you that not accepting her offering isn’t an option.

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips.

“I’ll try,” you wisely stuff the one-hundred dollar bill into your wallet. “And Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks. I mean it.”

The frustration seems to melt out of her gaze within moments.

“You’re welcome,” she replies simply, smiling easily. It’s like somehow you’ve just made her day a little bit better by accepting her money. Her eyes drift downward once again. “Oh my god. John. You just had… and you’re already hard again?”

You’ve seen her naked. You’ve had sex with her. But a part of you still feels embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you mutter sheepishly.

Your mother shakes her head.

“It’s not your fault, honey. It’s perfectly natural for a man your age to be… to have greater endurance than older men.”

Like your father, remains unsaid.

She lowers her hand and clasps it around your cock.

You moan when you feel her soft skin around your erection. She gives you a gentle tug.

“Do you take care of yourself often? You must if you can recover this quickly,” she moves her hand back and forth, her silky soft skin gliding smoothly over your manhood.

You lean back against your dresser. She follows you, her face inches away from yours as she tugs away at you.

“You’re so handsome and strong. Why haven’t I seen you with a girlfriend?” she whispers.

Her tugging makes it difficult to think, let alone talk, but you answer as best you can. You never expected her to be this forward, even after you’d manipulated her.

“I-I guess I was always kind of shy, you know?”

She grins.

“You were, weren’t you? It’s too bad girls these days don’t know how to recognize a real man when they see one. That some guys are only shy because they lack the stupid, unthinking bravado a lot of men strut around with like peacocks. All style and no substance. Men like you just need to be… coaxed into the open,” she squeezes your manhood. She moves closer to you, her lips almost touching yours. “If I were your age and I saw you in school, I’d have been all over you in a second.”

Holy shit.

Her eyes widen slightly, as if even she’s surprised at the words coming out of her own mouth.

“Oh really?”

She swallows and nods.

“Mhm. I would have been completely unable to resist you. God, the two of us together? That would have been so amazing.”

She tugs on you again, and you jerk in place, rubbing up against the dresser and causing it to thud against the wall.

The sudden sound dispels whatever has come over the two of you.

Mom retreats slightly, taking her hand off your cock.

“You should probably finish getting dressed. You need me to give you a ride over to the Thompsons’, right?”

You nod.

“Yeah. You don’t mind driving me?”

“Not at all. I’m always happy to help you. All you need to do is ask.”