No Use Crying

Nurture. The newspaper lies atop a kitchen table, the words blotted with milk. Nearby sits a son, nearer sits a mother. She's half-blessed and half-cursed. She looks at her son, and is torn between lust and love. She wants to protect him. She wants to keep him safe. She wants to hold him close and never let go.

Milk and coffee spiralled inwards. Curls of chocolate bobbed and floated across the frothed surface. From the centre of the mug rose a wisp of steam, which unfolded and stretched out into the morning air. It crept, like a spectral finger, upwards, reaching towards the dark-haired woman who sat, and sometimes sipped, as she read her morning paper—her slender fingers drumming against the handle of her cup.
Slowly, the woman's fingers withdrew from the crockery. They crept back towards her chest. For a moment, her fingertips stretched out towards her own cleavage, as if reaching to touch the pale skin. Then she thought better of it. Her fingers snapped back. Instead, she grasped the end of her ponytail, which rested coiled atop a breast. She wrapped the dark lock around her finger and toyed with it as she sipped. Occasionally she would look away from her paper and across the table, towards Alex. She watched him with motherly concern.

“Is something wrong?” Eva said at last, breaking the silence that slumbered between the two. She reached again for her cup and took another tiny sip - wincing from the temperature. “You're being awfully quiet this morning. You haven't said a word to me since you came downstairs.”

Alex paused with his spoon half-way to his lips. He glanced up at his mom and then remembered why he wasn't looking at her. She smiled at him reassuringly, drinking her coffee – as if nothing were wrong.

“It's nothing.” Alex said. He dropped his spoon, and let the stale, pre-blessing cereal slop back into the cow-milk.

“Well if you're sure.” Eva said, “But if there's anything wrong you can always talk to me.”

Alex stirred the cereal with his spoon, and watched as oat rings floated and drowned in their puddle of milk.
Talking would be useless, he knew. There was little Mom could do about the blessing, nor the future, nor even her own transformation, but.... He glanced at his mother again, embarrassed to look too closely. There was one thing that he would have to mention sooner-or-later. Mom hadn't noticed this time, and he wouldn't be able to ignore it for much longer.

“Actually...” he said. Mom met his eyes, “There is something.”

“What is it?” Eva asked.

Alex took a deep breath. “I think you've forgotten something.”

She looked at him, perplexed. “Like what Alex?”

“Mom. Look down.”

She looked down; first at the red-and-white chequered mat that hid the table. Seeing nothing, she looked down at herself. Down at her legs, and at the black skirt—quite long and formal—which shrouded them. Her head tilted down further. Her gaze crawled up her body. She looked up past her wide hips, and up past her toned stomach, and finally up to her chest. To the fat breasts which bulged there. Boobs far too big for her slender figure, and only hidden from the world by a satin red bra. She stared at the uncovered curves of her boobs for a few seconds. She sat expressionless, but not motionless. Slowly, her shoulders began to roll—in the way that they often did whenever her son was around. Her breasts wobbled, and shook, and collided against one another.

Eva looked up. She frowned at her son, puzzled. She opened her mouth, and for a moment Alex thought that she was about to ask him a question. But then her head dropped back down. She looked again at the naked expanse of cleavage that loomed before her.

“Oh my gosh!” Eva's eyes widened. Moments later, a blush reached her cheeks. The newspaper dropped from her fingers, immediately forgotten. Her arm reached across her chest. She tried to shield herself, but it was too late to worry about modesty.

”How did I…?” she began to ask, but she didn't finish the thought. Eva stood up, and snatched a sky-blue blouse from the airer, holding it in front of herself like a shield. “Thank you so much for reminding me.” She turned her back on her son, and began to dress herself at last. Her face still red, and her eyes still downcast, the words came out in a rush: “I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I was just sitting there like that. In front of you. Almost… almost topless. How long have I been wandering around like that? All morning?”

Alex didn't look at the half-naked woman, nor did he answer her. He'd taken a sudden interest in counting the tiles above the kitchen counter.

“The thing is… I didn't even notice.” Eva continued. “Not at all.” She pulled an arm through the sleeve of her blouse. “Gosh, that could have been bad. Imagine if I'd gone outside like that.” She was starting to babble. “I mean no-one would have said anything. Not these days. But… just… I keep imagining it... everyone able to see me... everyone looking at me… my breasts. All those men staring at me... getting hard….”

Eva's blush had begun to fade. But then it surged back, even redder than before. “I didn't mean it like that!” she cried. Alex continued to ignore her. “You know I… I just meant it would be embarrassing. If they were all looking. And… um... thinking about… doing things — ”

— Alex waved a hand, but still didn't look her way. “Please. Mom. Just stop talking.”

His mom nodded, sharply. Still sheepish, she finished dressing in near-silence. It took her several minutes to awkwardly cram her tits into the neckline of her shirt. Finally, she straightened her clothes and tucked her blouse down into her skirt.
“There. Better?” she said to Alex, turning back to him when she was done.

Alex finally looked.
She wasn't much better, to be honest. The blouse was an old one of Eva's, from before the blessing. And it was still in the old-fashioned style; with a neckline that actually reached the neck, and buttons that climbed all the way up to the very top. Not that buttons were of much help to his mom. Her breasts had already grown far too big for her old clothing, and she'd barely even bothered to try to cover them. Her top buttons hanged to the side; unfastened and forgotten. The red fabric of her bra peeked over her clothing. And the soft swells of her breasts still showed clearly. His mom's cleavage was on display, for anyone to see. Her tits barely contained, held bulging in their tight, cloth cage.

Was there even any point in telling her? Alex wondered. Or would she just give him some excuse about 'letting her breasts breathe'?

“Better.” he said finally.

Alex sighed, and eyed his mom wearily. Her breasts looked a little bigger than yesterday, he noted. They were still growing, but it wasn't the size of her chest that worried him most. His eyes flicked up to meet her blue ones. They were still his mother's eyes, kind and sky-blue. Then his gaze fell back onto her boobs.
They looked… healthy at least. Round, and soft, and free of blemishes. But there was a strange slickness to them now. Their surface shined; reflecting and scattering any light that struck them. A rainbow sheen decorated her cleavage. Alex hoped that she'd just been oiling them. If not, that meant the blessing had already started to affect her sweat. And he didn't relish the thought of his mom's cleavage growing permanently oiled, pheromone-laden and... ready to fuck. He gaped at his mom's big, soft, round, heavy tits. Slick. So sexy. Ready to fuck….

Alex's cock hardened, which was enough to bring him back to his senses. His eyes widened, then snapped away from his mom's breasts. He stood up—kicking back his chair as he clambered to his feet. The chair slid backwards. He heard the groan of wood on wood. He twisted away from the table. Away from the threat of his Mom's cleavage. But too fast. His arm caught the table mat. He dragged it with him as he spun, sending a half-empty bottle of milk careening across the table. Cow-milk splattered from the opening, spraying the table, the floor, and soaking his own lap.

“Oh honey.” Eva pursed her ruby-red lips, “Can't you be more careful?”

“It's fine.” he said, a little sharply, still reeling from his mom's breasts and the accident he'd just caused, “I'm fine. I'll just mop it up.”

But Eva was already striding towards him. She tore a few tissues from the roll on the counter, without slowing.

“Really,” Alex said, “it's okay. I'll just grab some—”

“—No. I'll do it” Eva interrupted. “I really don't mind.” Her tits jiggled with each step she took, and Alex feared that they might bounce out of her clothes. He feared even more that he wouldn't be able to tear his eyes away from them. When she drew up next to him she flashed him a smile. “Let Mommy clean it up.”

Alex was about to move when he felt his mother's finger touch against his chest. With a single shove she him backwards. His feet slipped. He tipped, and fell back down onto the chair, landing with a soft bump. His Mom—still standing—towered over him. She was taller now, he realised, and stronger too. The blessed women often were, it helped with the extra weight they had to carry around.

“You don't have to do everything by yourself, you know.” Eva said. She ignored Alex's moans of protest as she leant across him. She reached for the edge of the table. Tissues in hand, she began to mop at the milk pooled on the mat. Her other hand remained pressed against her son's chest, effortlessly pinning him to his chair.
Eva was uncomfortably close. Her body filled Alex's vision, and nowhere was safe to look. The bra did little to keep her tits under control, they shook back-and-forth with every stroke of her hand. Alex turned his head away and tried to ignore them. But looking away from her breasts meant looking towards her ass instead. And although it hadn't grown nearly as much, it still managed to wobble generously beneath her skirt.

”Oh look...” Eva sounded disappointed. She turned away from the table and towards her son. She looked him up-and-down with dismay. But when her eyes passed over his lap, Alex thought he saw her lick her lips. “What a mess.” she said.
Eva placed a foot on either side of the wooden chair, directly in front of Alex. Then, without warning, she dropped to her knees. Her tits plummeted into Alex's lap. He could feel them pressing against his upper-leg. Only her bra shielded him from touching her boobs.
With a hand, Eva reached forwards, and with a tissue, she began to dab at her son's shorts. Alex squirmed beneath her touch.

“Mom you really don't have to—”

“—Nonsense. I'm happy to help.” she smiled to herself, still focused on the task at hand. “I'm not angry at you Alex. I know it was just an accident. And besides...” she prodded at one of her breasts. Her finger sunk into soft flesh, “You were distracted. So, if anything, it was my fault.” She smiled at him again.

Alex kept squirming. Eva's hand kept marching up his leg, dabbing ineffectually at the wet patches. It worried him that she was moving ever closer to his crotch. Her tits inched closer too, forcing their way into his vision. Alex eyed her cleavage nervously. It glistened like an invitation. Bulging, unavoidable. They urged him to slip in-between. She was presenting herself to him, he realised.

He felt the bulge in his shorts grow again. His mother's eyes were still fixed on his lap, and there was no way that she hadn't seen his erection. But she didn't say anything. Now it was Alex's turn to blush. He searched desperately for some distraction, something else to focus on. Anything else. Anything except his Mom's tits.
The table caught his eye, and he found the newspaper that sat discarded atop it. It was soaked in milk. The words blotted and unreadable. But the photo that headed the page was still visible. Even from this distance he could see the figure of the Presidentress. More boob than woman, and displayed in all her glory. She did his cock no favours. Despite himself, Alex grew even harder. The newspaper had no reservations about showing breasts. Only the woman's nipples were hidden out of sight, blocked by elegant, silver tassels; the only clothing that she wore.
A 's cock was displayed just as proudly—but miserably. The head engorged, and angry, and just visible, peeking out from between the politician’s breasts. The 's own head had been smudged with spilt milk, his mouth smeared across the page. It almost looked like he was screaming.

Alex looked back at his mom. She gave another one of her unnerving smiles. “Almost done sweetie.” She said. She went back to rubbing his pants, humming a tune as she did so, seemingly unaware that her fingers were less than an inch away from her son's cock. This was wrong, Alex knew. This had to stop. Did she even know what she was doing? Was this intentional? Were her 'blessings' giving the orders now?

”Mom. Stop.” he said. “You have to stop doing this.”

Eva ignored him. “I told you sweetie. I'm happy to do it.” Eva said, still rubbing at his shorts, her voice soft and gentle, “I know you worry about me, but I'm your mom. I'm supposed to worry about you!” Eva reached forwards, and patted her son's crotch. Perhaps it was supposed to be reassuring. It wasn't. Alex cringed at her touch. “Look, I know it's not easy for young men out there at the moment. But I'd like to spend more time with you. I'd like to help you.” she said.

Alex didn't speak. He fidgeted. He struggled. His Mom's breasts were almost squashed against his face now. He had to hold his head back, so as not to be smothered, but the wooden backrest prevented his escape.

”There. Done.” Eva said at last. Not that the tissues had helped much. She dropped them to one side, but she didn't back away. Instead she placed a hand on her son's thigh. Gripping it lightly. Her fingers extended. They brushed against his cock. Touching it through his shorts. Her fingertips drifted back and forth, tickling his erection. “Doesn't that feel better?” she asked.

Alex didn't know how to answer. He wanted to escape. He wanted to writhe away. He wanted to sink in-between her breasts and never climb back out. He prayed for an interruption….