A return to normalcy

Monday morning. I wake up, eager to seize the day. I pop a pill, dropping me to seven, and stretch. A smart man might wonder why I bothered with the degree. Hadn't I just wasted over a week of time that could have been better applied to developing my business? A smarter man would recognize the purpose behind my actions, though. Of course, money is good. But it isn't my only goal. I have Mom, Kelly, and Ashley to look after. I need to plan my efforts in a way that not only earns us income but also improves and fosters my relationships with those women, all the while managing the number of pills that I have remaining. Getting the degree was an important step in improving their perception of me, something that I know will later impact my ability to increase my income. So, to the smart man, I say: get smarter.

I poke a head out of my room and see everyone's doors are closed. Ashley returned at some point late last night, but I didn't get a chance to see her before she went to bed. I doubt she wants to see me at seven in the morning, either. Heck, I don't even know if she's still here. Sometimes I wonder why she even bothers to come home, then feel guilty for having the thought. That's not the kind of support she needs.

I use the next hour to expand my learning a little more. This time, I focus on anatomy and physiology. Massage techniques and physical therapy. Physical stimulation and biological responses. By the time Mom knocks on my door, I'm confident I have the knowledge necessary to give a kickass massage and treat basic injuries.

She pokes her head in and says, "Hey, Dom. Good morning. Are you busy?"

I sit back in my computer chair and turn to face her. "Good morning, Mom! No, I'm not busy. Just wrapping up some studying. Come in." I motion to the bed, and Mom wanders into my room.

Unlike last night, my nootropic mind immediately latches onto the sensuality of her form. She wears a black cotton sports bra with matching black cotton leggings, and her hair is done in a simple part so that her blond streaks fall to either shoulder, tickling the skin on her chest and raising goosebumps. The faint studs of her soft nipples can barely be seen on the dark material. I can't help but stare as she walks past me and sits on the corner of my bed.

Mom smiles at me, breaking my cognitive trance. "Dear?"

"Sorry," I say, blushing. "What's up?"

She crosses her legs and rests an elbow on her knee, using the outstretched palm to rest her chin. The blue in her eyes pulls me into their depths, and I feel myself spinning. She blinks, and the sensation stops. "I wanted to check on you, after yesterday," my mind recalls her saying, the words already having left her mouth.

"Oh, I'm fine. I've just been doing some additional studying."

"What on?"

"Massage therapy, mainly. I thought it would be a useful skill to have."

"Massages? I could certainly use one of those!" she laughs, and her crossed legs sink back to the floor. My enhanced mind recognizes the joke, but I can also see the need lurking beneath her words. The desire to be touched, loved and cared for. Now isn't the right moment for that, though.

"It's more for injuries, but I would be glad to give you one sometime. Put my skills to the test."

She nods appreciatively, and I expect her to leave, but she continues. "Also, I was wondering if you would like to do some yoga together this morning. I really enjoyed our time together the other day."

A welcome surprise, one that my mind immediately begins planning for.

"Of course, I'd love to!" I say. "Let me just change real quick."

Before she can speak, I am already up and pulling my shirt overhead. I toss it into the hamper, then drop my pajama pants. I'm wearing underwear of course, but I still hear a nervous cough behind me.

"Have you been working out? You look much more... muscular." Mom says, and I turn to face her. I smile and give her a show, flexing my arms in mock strength. She giggles.

"A little. Trying to do better, you know."

I slide a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top on, then follow Mom downstairs. My enhanced senses don't miss her lingering gaze on my growing muscles.

Once we get into the living room, I see Mom has already laid out our mats. "I'm starting to feel like you knew I would come," I say, joking.

She steps onto her mat and turns to face me. "Well," she says, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "I was hoping you would."

I step onto the mat beside her, and Mom turns on a yoga video on the TV. As I watch her start with some basic stretches, my conscious mind realizes I have put myself in a precarious position. I have to focus, or I risk popping another boner on her. And that would not be good.

I follow Mom through a few warm-up movements: stretching our arms overhead, stretching our shoulders by doing rotator movements, and so on. Eventually, Mom looks at me and points to the floor. "Sit, I want to do a partner stretch for our hip flexors."

"Alright," I say, taking the spot she had indicated. She sits in front of me, legs spread, and motions for me to do the same. I spread them as far as they'll go, which isn't that far, to be honest, and she plants her feet against mine such that our legs form a human square. She holds her hands out in front of her, waiting for me, so I place my palms in hers and gently pull her forward. The placement of her legs causes the movement to pull her legs further apart into a near-horizontal split, shifting us into more of a triangle, as her torso dips closer and closer to the floor. I ultimately have to press her hands to my chest and lean back in order to give her the level of pressure that she needs.

I watch Mom as she dips further toward me. I can't help but notice the sheen of sweat already forming on her skin, or the smoldering look in her eyes as her muscles are stretched against me. "Ah," she pants, her voice broken into a weak pant, as she sinks further down and how body is stretched apart. Through the gap between her arms, her breasts hang freely, hardly contained by the soft cotton of her sports bra. A dark line of cleave invites me in, teasing me until it is finally covered by her sinking head. I pull back further too, nearly laying on my back as I realize how flexible Mom truly is.

Finally, I feel the tension of her muscles prevent me from pulling further. I stop for a moment, Mom's hands pressed against my abdomen, and wait. Her breathing is heavy and strained, no doubt the result of the **** her body is being subjected to. I gently ease the pressure, allowing her to loosen her body, and then sink back down again. My sigh join hers as I realize her arms are sliding to either side of my penis. Each movement causes her to barely brush it, something she no doubt realizes, and somehow I manage to prevent myself from getting a boner while we perform the stretch.

After half a minute or so, I slowly ease the pressure back to nothing and help Mom sit back. I end up rising faster than her and am treated to the sight her of leggings, already tight on her body and pulled past her hips, clinging to the curves of her ass for dear life.

"Ah," she whimpers again, as she finally eases back into the starting position. "Wow, that was intense. I don't think anyone's ever gone that deep with me before."

I chuckle at the double entendre and say, "I had no idea you are so flexible. That was crazy, Mom. I bet you can do a full split, can't you?"

She beams at me and slides back, then rolls of onto the balls of her feet and drops into a split. "Of course!" she says, her voice strained but her face still smiling. I realize that I think I have a fetish for flexible women, as my cock finally surges to life at the sight of one-half of her ass flexing its thick muscles with each subtle sway of her split. I gulp and try to adjust myself without getting seen, but thankfully Mom returns back to the stretch position and holds her hands out again.

My turn now, she pulls me towards her. The pressure of her feet against my ankles sends my muscles taut almost immediately, and she chuckles at my lack of flexibility. "Guess you won't be doing a split today, will you?"

"No, don't think so," I grunt. By the team she lets me return to the starting position, my boner is long gone and my legs feel like spaghetti. "That was an intense stretch. I definitely appreciate the work you've put into yourself to be so flexible, Mom. That's crazy."

She blushes and smiles at me again. "Thank you, dear. I try to stay in shape."

"Well, it's working."

Her blush deepens, then she rolls back onto her mat. "Let's do some actual yoga now, yeah?"

I nod and take my place beside her, then we both drop into the downward dog. Then the bend-over. I feel my muscles respond slowly and I imagine Mom feels the same due to our partner stretch. We move into the downward dog, then drop to the floor and perform a few more poses. Eventually, we sink onto our stomachs and reverse-arch our backs into the locust position.

We hold it for a few moments. "A little longer," Mom says, her voice strained. I look over at her and see her back and shoulder muscles quivering at the exertion. My own body feels like it is being ripped apart, but something about my mental state allows me to repress the feelings and ignore them. "Longer," she grunts. Another moment, then another. "Release!" she finally says, and we drop to the floor with a sigh.

Next, we continue through a few more poses. The Happy Baby, which is quite like **** for me, and some others. Finally, we end in the corpse pose. We rest for a few moments and recover ourselves. Finally, Mom sits back into a crossed-leg position and takes a deep breath, eyes closed.

"Oh, look who the yogi is now," I joke, and she smiles, eyes still closed. Her breasts rise and fall with her breathing, and the sheen on her skin gives her a faint shimmer. Her sports bra does little to hide her nipples from my sight, something that has been constantly drawing my gaze since I saw her this morning.

She opens her eyes, and I look away.

"Well, that was relaxing." She rolls forward onto her heads and stands up, before turning and offering me a hand. "Come on, it's breakfast time I think."

I follow her into the kitchen and watch her start pulling ingredients from the cabinets.

"You don't want to shower first?"

I watch as she steps onto her tip-toes to reach something on the top shelf, my eyes homing in on her ass as it invites me in. "I'll shower after. I'd rather cook breakfast for my son, right now."

"I won't complain."

"What, I don't get some?" I hear a voice behind me say, turning to see Kelly standing there. Her blond hair is already curled for the day, and she wears a flowery blouse with a pair of denim skinny jeans, completed with a pair of white jordans. She gives me a disinterested smile and sits down at the kitchen table, already playing on her phone. "I'd really like some eggs," she continues.

"Sure, dear. I'll cook you some too." Mom turns on the stove and preps. I walk into the kitchen to join her.

"Can I help?" I ask, pulling the eggs out of the refrigerator. She gives me a warm smile, but it suddenly contorts into a pained expression and she drops the bag of grits she is holding onto the floor, sending it flying everywhere. Her hand darts to her back and rubs at a spot just above the line of her yoga pants, and she grunts, "Ow!"

I quickly set the eggs down and check her back. Mom presses her other arm against the counter for support and leans against it to relieve pressure. "Let me see it," I say. She turns her back towards me and I use my newfound knowledge to inspect the muscles beneath her fingertip, gently rubbing it while feeling for tension or damage.

"Are you okay, Mom?" Kelly says from the table, but she doesn't come over to help. I look back to see her nose-deep in her phone, oblivious.

I continue to inspect Mom's back, one eye on her face to detect any winces or pain, and another on her back, searching for the damaged spot. It only takes me a moment to find it after that, and I realize Mom must have strained a muscle on her lower back while reaching into the cabinet. It's rather surprising, as I know her muscles should have been flexible from our earlier stretches. "It feels like you strained the muscle, just here. Do you feel that?" I ask, gently prodding the sore muscle with the palm of my hand.

"Ow, yes," she answers, her face wincing. I release the pressure and slide my hands onto either side of her abdomen, horizontal with the injury. I can't help but notice the sensuality of the position: Mom, slightly bending over in front of me while I wrap my hands around her hips, her ass poking out towards me. My hands slide a little lower down as my mind wanders, thinking through a thousand scenarios and a hundred desires. My cock surges to life with each thought, and I have to purposefully focus on other things to put it back to rest.

"Sorry, Kelly, I think you're on your own for now. Mom, how about I help you upstairs so you can lie down? I'll clean this up afterward."

She protests at first, but eventually, she agrees and I shoulder her up the stairs. Kelly looks agitated, but I know she's just hungry. She mentions something about going to our aunt's house and I hear the door close behind us.

Entering Mom's room, I help her onto her bed. She sags into it, not caring about her dirty clothes or sweat-covered skin, and gives me a soft smile. "Sorry, dear. I guess I won't be able to cook breakfast today."

I roll my eyes back at her. "Don't worry about it. How bad does it hurt?"

"It's not terrible. I think I just need some rest." She shuffles in the bed, clearly uncomfortable.

As much as I hate to see Mom in pain, I couldn't have planned this any better myself. "Or maybe it's time for that massage?"