An animal at the trough

You decide to tail your mother, and see where she is headed. You wait half a minute to give her a lead, then try to surreptitiously follow her. She passes by several storefronts, and quickly ducks into a hallway labeled with restroom signs. You follow her, just in time to see the door to the women's restroom swinging shut. You have some need to relieve yourself, so you decide to head into the men's restroom, and wait for your mom to come out so you can follow her.

You walk into the bathroom, which is relatively large, and empty. Along one wall is a line of stalls, and along the other is a line of sinks, and then a long, single metal trough. You hate bathrooms where there is only a single trough, instead of a line of urinals with separators, but since this bathroom is empty, it is less annoying than it could be, if you had to jostle into position among a crowd. You walk up to the trough, and relieve yourself in a long steady stream. After it peters out, you shake yourself a little, then go to zip up.

Before you can tuck your dick back into your pants, you simultaneously feel a hand slip over your mouth, and a hand slip around your cock. A female body presses into your back, and the hand on your cock begins to stroke it at a fairly quick pace. The hand on your mouth and the body pressed flush against you keeps you from turning or looking around, but you can tell that it is your mother by the faint scent of flowers. After a few seconds, the hand over your mouth slips off, and is inserted into your pants, where it cups and lightly squeezes your balls. The other hand continues to stroke your cock at a steady but not frantic pace. You can feel your mother's tits against your back, two soft circles of flesh, each accentuated by her nipples, which are hard enough to feel through both her and your shirt.

Your cock responds quickly to this situation. You are hard within fifteen seconds, and in less than a minute your breathing becomes unsteady. Hearing the change, your mother speeds her pace slightly, almost immediately causing your cock to begin to spray. You close your eyes and imagine it painting your mother's face or ass, though you know in the back of your mind that it is splattering on to the wall or into the trough. You then recall what your mother said about wanting no sexual trace of you on her person when your father returned, and you understand why she chose this method to get to you.

Your muscles are still feebly attempting to push out more cum when your mothers' hands deftly and smoothly slip out of position, leaving your cock pulsing a small load or two on to the floor. You take a long second or two to enjoy the last of your ejaculation, then turn to say something (you know not what) to your mother. By the time you turn, though, she has slipped out of the bathroom. You quickly tuck yourself into your pants, and cast a sidelong glance at your cum, which lies in short strands on the wall, floor, and urinal trough. You decide that you have no desire to clean it up, and get out of the bathroom quickly, before someone else shows up.

You dart out of the bathroom, and there is no one in sight. No man about to walk into the bathroom to find your mess, and no mother, either.