Remote Possibilities -- Mothers and Sons

As best the boy could tell, the small silver remote control didn't actually do much of anything, at least not most of the time. And when it did work, however erratically, the effect was fitful, wearing off after a random, short while. Nonetheless, the opportunity was too great to ignore. He’d seen what he'd seen. The boy resolved to tap each of the remote’s soft blue and gray buttons each morning, just in case.

* * *

As with any other day Emma woke early with the sun and creakily rose from bed to get her household going. Like clockwork, her inner monologue sputtered to life, guiding her through the day’s plans: wake, shower, feed her son, and then off to work.

She was sleepily mulling over what they’d have for breakfast when she swept open her bedroom curtains to greet the dawn light, and reached into the air for a mega-stretch. Her shoulders and back complained.

Ugh, I need a new pillow, and probably a better sports bra to sleep in. One more thing to deal with, she thought with her arms still held high.

Hopefully Warren didn’t stay up too late glued to that TV, she mused. Might be time to have another talk with him about time management.

Alright, time to get going. After all breakfast, isn't going to make itself.

Yelling, she called out: "Warren! You awake? Up and at–"

To an outside observer, there wasn’t much to notice. Just a woman by her window, stretching to greet the morning light. The woman was breathing peacefully. Her heart still beat at its normal pace. It was just that after a few minutes passed, the woman still held the same pose.

Emma didn’t seem much interested in moving, or lowering her arms and ending her stretch, or advancing her thoughts in any way. She just stood. Calm but stuck in a loop, skipping like a scratched record.

Through the door and across the hall, Warren stood by his desk, dull silver rectangle in hand. The boy was wide awake, listening intently. In stark contrast with his mother, the boy’s heart and breathing weren’t normal or even at all.

Unbeknownst to his mother, Warren had developed the habit of rising early since the day he had stumbled across the strange silver rectangle laying innocuously in the grassy field he crossed on his way home from school.

Thinking little of it, he’d snatched the remote and brought it home. That evening, he had been sitting at the kitchen table enduring another of his mother’s dinner lectures about homework, fiddling with the buttons to pass the time when his mother’s words had... changed.

She sounded the same. The exact same gently patronizing nasal tone, except reversed.

The boy had thought he was hallucinating at first, until his mother had grabbed his freshly served plate of food and her own, stood awkwardly and backed to the still hot stove. She had shoveled most of the contents of their plates back into the simmering skillet when he made the connection, falling off of his chair in shock.

Now, sitting in his bedroom, Warren’s heart leapt when his mother’s call cut off suddenly. By his estimate, he only had a short while to enjoy himself. He jumped out of bed and hurried down the hall.

* * *

Groaning with effort, the boy carefully tipped and dragged his mother back from the brightly lit window towards the center of the room, then stepped back to draw the curtains. (No need to put on a show for the whole neighborhood.)

It only took him a minute to unbutton and remove the old worn cotton nightgown his mother tended to sleep in, and a few seconds to roughly tug down the front of her sports bra and ogle the large pink areolae poking out atop her plump round breasts.

Anticipation already sprouting in his pj bottoms, he ran his eyes over his mother’s ample chest. He’d caught glimpses of her large bras here and there, drying on the line on laundry day, but it wasn’t until recently that he’d come clean with himself about how interesting Mom’s upper half really was.

It turns out, the boy noted with a thrill, Mom had a real set of knockers.

* * *

Warren is always watching that stupid old tv in his room. I truly hope he went to sleep at a reasonable hour. Emma sighed. (Internally, of course, she was no more likely to move an inch than fly to Venus).

Though Emma’s mind was stuck in a fugue of infinite rumination, her body was responding to its new surroundings. Her opening pores welcomed the hot scented soapy water. Something wet splashed the side of her face, and she heard (but didn’t register) a series of loud flopping sounds, strangely echoing.

There was also the most confusing little tingle along the top of her behind. like something warm and firm pressed against her there. But those sensations were far away, hardly registering.

Back in the world of the moving, a low guttural growl escaped from Warren’s parted lips as he slid his soapy hands beneath, then up and around his mother’s perfect round udders.

Hefting the gigantic melons he marveled at the weight. They were so heavy! No wonder Mom always complained about her back.

While fondling the warm prodigious tit-flesh felt incredible, the majority of the his attention and pleasure was originating from the shaft of his penis, wedged as it was between his mother’s protruding buttocks.

Some vestige of fear kept him from actually penetrating her, but he had no problem sliding his soapy , rock hard member up and down between her ass cheeks, hot dog style.

Molesting his mother’s top half while he rutted against her bottom, it wasn’t long before his breath was catching in his throat.

"Warren! Up and at–" Emma murmured, capping off another loop.

"Yes Ma’am," the boy retorted, hitching his hips and spurting, painting the small of her back with his cum.

* * *

"Honey! You left your antique thingie on the kitchen counter!" Emma called up to her son’s room from the kitchen.

She set it aside and glanced anxiously at the clock. That boy had stayed up late watching TV in his room again, she was sure of it.

After a shower which had seemed to last forever, she had fallen behind schedule. Chastising herself for zoning out under the hot water she fetched the cold cuts and bread then set to work.

Lunch wasn't going to make itself, after all.

Finally her boy stumbled downstairs, yawning and scratching his neck.

"Earning extra money as a trash collector these days?" she teased, scrutinizing the old plastic blue and gray remote buttons.

"Oh, thanks Mom," he said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "I was looking for that."

"Come right home after school today, ok? You've got a lot of hom--"

He didn't believe it at first, but when his mother didn't finish her sentence Warren **** himself to count to ten before raising his head and gawking at her.

Sure enough, Emma was stuck in another loop, endlessly making lunch. Glancing at the clock, his mind reeled.

On the one hand: He was late for school. He'd just cum, gooping up his mother's ass and back. Worse still, he'd almost gotten caught, barely escaping the shower before his mother had snapped out of her spell.

But on the other hand, there was the insistent, building pressure in his pants.

* * *

In the end, the choice hadn't been difficult.

"Come right home after... school --hunh!--today, ok? You've got a lot of... --oh!--homework --hunh!--t-to do... --aah!--tonight!"

His mother's slick, sweaty tunnel gripped and milked him as he bounced his hips roughly against her bottom.

Emboldened by this golden opportunity, Warren had made a spur of the moment decision to lift his embargo on penetration. The remote almost never worked, twice in one morning was a sign from above.

Following through was the least he could do.