Loading...As might be expected, dinner that evening at the DeVries household was somewhat awkward. Christopher picked hesitantly at his pasta, not trusting his stomach. He just couldn’t settle down. His heart would palpitate for twenty minutes at a stretch, and just as he’d start to relax he’d think of the delights he might earn in the next few months, and the whole process began again. He was getting exhausted just sitting.
“So mom, I’ve been thinking.”
“Hm. I’ll bet. ‘Bout what?”
“Well, I was wondering, I mean, I know I didn’t do any studying today, but I thought maybe I, um, might possibly get a study break tonight, in earnest, ya know? Um, as, a nice gesture?” Christopher forced what he hoped was a charming, mom-melting grin. He knew he was already pressing his luck, but the urge to start translating this deal into reality was irresistible. Part of him was deathly afraid his mother might already be having second thoughts.
Janet smiled. She speared a single pasta shell with her fork, turned it over between thumb and forefinger, and gently pulled the shell off of the tines with her pearly teeth.
Christ, her son thought, she can even eat sexy.
“I’ve never been good at saying no to you when you’re being so cute. Tonight before bed, you’ll get your first study break.”
Christopher closed his eyes and sighed with relief.
“Mom, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not really too hungry tonight. It’s not your cooking, it’s just my stomach is just a little jumpy.”
“Oh,”, Janet said, her eyes suddenly wide with apparent concern. “If you’re sick tonight, maybe we should skip the study break.”
If he’d hadn’t been so immediately alarmed at her words, Christopher might have noticed the knowing sing-song lilt his mother had used speaking them. “No no no! I’ll be fine! I just don’t wanna antagonize it right now.”
“I understand sweetie. Pasta makes great leftovers anyway. Tell you what, why don’t you go amuse yourself for a while. I have some reading I want to do. I’ll drop by before I go to bed.”
Feeling fairly dismissed, Christopher rose and stood before his mother. She was so pretty and savvy and dirty-sweet, he wanted to sweep her up out of the chair and smother her with kisses. For the moment, he contented himself with a hug and a chaste, if lingering, peck on the cheek.
“Hey, I’d say we’re a little beyond that stage, don’t you think? Now come here…”
Janet pulled her son’s face close to her own. Christopher puckered instantly, and was wet with his mother’s lips. Not torrid, this kiss, but hotter and more intimate than mothers and sons are supposed to kiss. Christopher felt his face flush, and his heart skip madly again.
They parted slowly their lips making a delicious wet sound. Mother and son looked into each others’ smiling eyes, until Christopher could stand it no longer, and grasped his mother behind her neck for one last, rougher clinch.
Christopher thought perhaps he’d finally gone to far, but he needn’t have worried. Janet smiled when they disengaged. “That’s more like it. Now g’wan, I’ll catch you later.” She gave her son a playful swat on the ass as he left to sweat out the seconds before bed time.
Later…
Christopher lay ramrod straight on his bed. The anticipation was electric. His mother had just dropped by his room to announce that she was just about ready for bed, and that he should “get comfortable”.
Soon, Janet reappeared at his doorway.
“Ready for your freebie?” she asked with a smile.
“Are you kidding?”
“Mmmmkay. Oil or lotion?”
“Er, mom?”
Janet laughed. “Old habits die hard. Do you want me to use baby oil or hand lotion on you, hon?”
“Oh.” Christopher subconsciously assumed his mother would simply jerk him off dry. That’s how he usually did it. Or with a particularly soft, cushy sock turned inside out. He pondered the question a moment. In truth, both choices sounded fantastic.
“Uh, lotion please.”
Janet winked. “Lotion it is then.”. His mother disappeared briefly, and returned with a bottle of hand lotion, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a hand towel.
She sure has this planned out, Christopher thought to himself.
Janet made to swing his desk chair around, but Christopher interrupted. “Can you sit on the bed?”
“Mmm, I think so.” Janet tried sitting with her legs off to the side, but that required both an uncomfortable twist and a somewhat precarious lean over her son’s crotch, considering her hands would be busy. In the end, she simply knelt straddling Christopher’s legs, which Christopher found very nice indeed, despite the fact that his mother had chosen none-too-revealing bed clothes this evening. She wore a kind of pajama pantsuit: emerald green buttoned shirt and slacks. They were satiny (well, polyester-ery) and rather attractive, but left a lot to the imagination.
As his mother was placing the towel and bottles to handy positions beside her, Christopher asked, his voice breathy with mounting excitement: “Mom, can I see your tits when you do it?”
Janet made an comic show of indecision, looking ceilingward and rubbing her chin. Clearly, a question like this had been anticipated. “Ummmm, no.” she replied cheerfully. “Nope, I think that’s a B level privilege at least. Yup, B for boobs, definitely.”
Christopher smiled and shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Janet hovered over her son, looking downward into his eyes, searching them. Christopher returned the gaze, and he ran his hands slowly over his mother’s thighs, savoring the smooth tautness of them beneath the filmy material. Both knew The Point of No Return had been reached.
“Nothing to it but to do it, babe.” Christopher drew a sharp breath as he felt the backs of his mother’s long, slender fingers slide over his hip bones to grasp his (very tented) boxers. “May I have the honor?’
“Please.” Christopher whispered hoarsely, for any more elaborate response was beyond him at the moment.
Janet lifted herself up on her knees a little, curled her fingers, and pulled down on her son’s last remaining garment. Christopher hoisted his ass a little to help. When his head snagged the elastic, Janet simply yanked harder, which made Christoper’s cock pivot upward and snap back against his waist with an obscenely meaty smack.
And there they were. He was naked before (well, below) his mother. The body warmed air in his tiny bedroom felt strangely cool. Christopher felt free and exhilarated.
“Mmmm”, Janet purred, looking down and coolly evaluating her son’s member like oenophile judging an unfamiliar vintage. “Seven inches? Close to it, anyway. A little lean, but we always were on the lean side, weren’t we, honey? Not skinny. Nice and veiny, but well proportioned. Very well.” She looked up at her son. “That’s a fine tool, love. You have a beautiful cock.”
Christopher smiled proudly. His mother flipped the little nozzle of the hand lotion bottle open, and very carefully dripped the cream onto her son’s cock. Christopher gasped and flinched as every drip touched; the cream felt like icy pinpricks to his superheated cock, though they warmed quickly.
“Cold, mmm? Poor baby. I think we can fix that”, she said with a subtle smile. Janet coated her palms with the same lotion, rubbed her hands together briefly, and reached down.
Christopher saw his mother’s hands descend in slow motion. He moaned softly as Janet began to smear the mess of hand cream around with two of her fingertips. Two fingertips became three, which became her whole fist, and then both. Janet wrapped both of her lotion-slicked fists around her son’s steel-hard cock and slowly began to pump. Christopher closed his eyes, threw his head back and writhed and moaned in utter ecstasy. The waves of pleasure now over-torquing his nerves demanded his body try to dissipate it with movement and vocalization. It was not a choice, it was a primal, chemical imperative.
“That’s it, baby. Feel your mommy’s hands on your cock.” Janet whispered huskily. “Do you want mommy to play with your balls?”
Christopher gasped, barely able to speak. He grasped his mother’s thighs instinctively for something to hold on to and the room around him rolled and pitched. “No…the shaft mom. Just the shaft.”
“My baby knows what he likes.” Janet used both fists, one on top of the other, pumping her son in earnest now. Each pump made their hot creamy flesh sclertch together obscenely.
Christopher could feel it already, the first tingling that heralded orgasm. He would reflect later that the sensation was not unlike that he experienced with a first drink of alcohol. It always began in his shoulders and thighs, and soon it would race toward his loins, and then…
Too soon. Too soon! He felt orgasm barreling to overtake him like a freight train, utterly beyond his power to divert or slow. At that moment he fully knew that his mother was in total control of the pleasure he was receiving, She was flipping a switches deep in his body he had no access too, even while masturbating himself. He was just coming along for the ride.
“Oh God mom!”, he moaned, “I’m gonna cum!”
Janet’s delicate fists raced up and down her son’s shaft quicker now, almost blurring. “Let it go, baby!” She whispered hoarsely. “Let it all your cum go for mommy!”
That did it.
Christopher’s body heaved, and he groaned like he’d been stabbed. Only by Herculean effort did he avoid pitching his mother off the bed. His loins unloaded in a rush, ejaculation ramped up upon ejaculation until they were almost one indistinguishable streak of semen.
The first barrage impacted squarely on Christopher’s face, though he barely noticed from the tsunami of orgasm washing over him. Janet noticed though, and with a startled squawk cupped one of her hands over the tip of her son’s spasming cock while still fisting it madly with the other.
Christopher moaned and shouted as he unburdened himself in his mother’s hands. After eternal moments of pleasure and agony almost indistinguishable, Christopher felt the storm subside. One last dollop of jizm escaped his cock, so bereft of energy it merely dripped down his mother’s knuckles. Christopher’s body relaxed at last, and he fell back against his bed, drinking great, ragged lung fulls of air.
Janet struggled to control her own breathing as she surveyed the aftermath. Her son was splattered with his own semen. Her hands dripped with it. She soaked the towel with alcohol, and carefully cleaned them both. Christopher winced a little when she stroked him with the cold astringent. After cleaning her son’s face, she gently kissed him on the lips.
“Wanna talk a little?”
“Sure, love to Mom.” Christopher smiled dreamily. The gray endorphin haze had completely dissolved, and he could think again.
Janet wheeled Christopher’s desk chair around to face the bed. She lit a cigarette. Her son watched her, entranced.
“So, what did you think of your study break? Your mother give good handjobs, or what?”
“Oh God, Mom, that was incredible. Absolutely incredible. I can’t even tell you.”
“I’m glad you liked it, baby. There’s more where that came from. Another day.”
Mother and son then spent a number of quiet moments simply looking at each other fondly. Neither was in the mood to force conversation. Long pauses, in other circumstances awkward, seemed comfortable in the afterglow. Christopher was certainly in no mind to rush anything. His mother’s hands had made him feel as exquisitely empty and satisfied as he ever had in his life. Yet, there was once small nagging question in the back of his mind that had resurfaced now that he was not overwhelmed with pleasure to the exclusion of all other feeling and thought.
“Mom, what made you think to ask me ‘oil or lotion’ before?”
Janet took a thoughtful drag on her cigarette, and blew a cone of smoke into her son’s room. Christopher didn’t mind at all. “Old habit. I used to ask men that a lot, under similar circumstances.”
That sounds interesting, Christopher thought.
“Really? Why?”
“Well, I’m not sure you’re ready for…”, Janet began, and recalled the act committed between her and her son moments before. She laughed and almost smacked herself in the forehead.
“I used to work at the Jockey, honey. That what the girls do there. Well, mostly.”
Christopher blinked. The Jockey Health Club was something of an underground legend: a ‘massage parlor’ that had somehow quietly persisted unraided for decades in the City. The means and details of that accomplishment weren’t generally known, but gossipers agreed that they certainly involved a great deal of graft. It was popularly thought of as an infernal dive of iniquity and whoredom, or the holy grail of iniquity and whoredom in a three state radius, depending on whom you asked.
“Whoa. Wow, mom. That’s radical.”
Janet grinned. “I told you you had no idea what a wild child I am.”
“Okay, but you’re telling me that the girls there give hand jobs, and I’ve always heard the place was basically just a whorehouse.”
“Well, remember, I said ‘mostly’.” Janet took another thoughtful drag, and slipped into her rare pedantic mode of expression. “No matter what you’ve heard, Jockey has always been officially just a jack shop. Or at least it was when I worked there. As a rule, girls get the clients off with their hands. There no chance of spreading VD that way, so the cops tolerate it. With a little palm grease, of course.”
“Heh., what kind of palm grease? Money, or the other kind?” Christopher snorted at his own wit.
“Both. I had more than a few cop cocks in my hands at Jockey. And local politicians’, too.”
“Like, what kind of local politicians?” Christopher asked in awestruck tones.
Janet smiled inwardly at some inner recollection. “Mayor Foley comes to mind, for starters.”
Christopher was stunned anew. “Get the fuck out!”
“Girl Scouts’ honor, baby. He was almost a reg for a while. Oh, the stories I could tell you about that fucked-up creep.”, she said wistfully.
“Didn’t they used to call that guy ‘Holy Foley’? Like he had some kind of religious grudge against porn and hookers and shit? Used to have porn shops busted?”
“That’s him. He hated hookers and porn, or said he said, but it was a rare Saturday when he didn’t stop by the Jockey with his big hat and the collar on his trench coat in front of his face. He seemed to think it was some sort of disguise, but it made him look like any other pervert off the street. Maybe that was the point.”
“What did he ask for?”
Janet laughed. “Just about anything and everything besides actual sex. He seemed to think getting off with a girl didn’t count as a sin if he wasn’t getting sucked or fucked. I could write a book about him.”
So, legendary City mayor Gerald ‘Holy’ Foley really liked hookers after. And his mother had done God-knew-what to him. It was thus that Christopher gained a bit of wisdom, as well as being tickled so absolutely pink he almost laughed out loud.
Janet crushed out her cigarette, and, to her son’s delight, immediately lit another. Other than the pleasure he got simply from watching the sensual way she smoked, he was enjoying the unexpected and fascinating glimpse of a shady peripheral world he could only heretofore have imagined, and could not have ever imagined his mother being a part of. Not to mention that the dirty talk was devilish fun.
“Okay, so, what was on the menu at the Jockey besides hand jobs?”
“Well, there was what they call a ‘breast release’. Basically, you oil up your tits, and the guy fucks your cleavage. I could never really do that.” Janet hefted her modest mammories through her nightshirt. “These aren’t much to jerk off in, but they do look cute splattered with jizz.”. Janet giggled at the new bar of filthy shamelessness she’d just raised.
Dear God, Christopher thought warmly, what a woman.
“So that was it? Hand jobs and tit jobs?”
“No, of course not. Frequent fliers got special privileges, even at Jockey.”
“Did you ever have any frequent fliers, mom?”
Janet smirked. “Yup, quite a few.”
“And you…”, Christopher began hesitantly.
“Yeah, honey, I sucked and fucked them, and I made a shitload of cash back then doing it. So, now you know your mother was a whore. That bother you?”
The truth was, Christopher had mixed feelings about the subject, though he couldn’t pin anything down just yet.
“No, I guess not. Not if it doesn’t bother you. Why’d you quit?”
“Your Dad. When we broke up, I knew he’d use Jockey against me during custody. I could just see it coming, so I gave it up. I didn’t want anything to get between you and me, kiddo.”
Christopher ignored the part about his father. From what little he had gathered, his father was a lout he’d never gotten to know, anyway. Christopher had no interest in him. His mother was infinitely more vibrant in his life.
“Ever think about doing it again?”
Janet suddenly looked aghast. “Are you suggesting your own mother take up whoring again!?”
Christopher flinched at the sudden, unexpected vehemence.
Janet smiled and waved in the air. ‘Honey, I’m sorry. I was teasing. It didn’t bother me then, and it wouldn’t bother me now. Do you think a little whoring would bother a woman that can jerk off her own kid? Yeah, I’ve thought of it. Once and a while. The money would be nice. I just don’t think most men are into old broads.”
“Good points”, Christopher conceded, “…except for the last part. Come on, you’re nowhere near an old broad, Mom. You’re still hot as hell. You know that, don’t you?”
Janet smiled shyly. It was the first time in recent memory Christopher had seen her demure. It was adorable. “Yeah I guess so. It’s just nice to hear it from somebody else.”
Janet lost herself in thought for a few moments, then, noticing her second cigarette burning low, snubbed it out and collected the handjob paraphernalia. “I think I’ll head for bed, honey. You must be about ready to pass out.”
During the course of the conversion, Christoper’s cock had pulsed slowly into wavering erection again. As Janet turned to leave, Christoper cleared his throat and nodded toward his renewed prong. “Mom, could you take care of me again before you go?”
His mother smiled and shook her head. “Sorry doll, once a day. Them’s the rules. But here…” Janet set the hand cream bottle on the desk beside Christoper’s bed, blew her son a silent kiss and went to bed.
They say a man can’t fall asleep with a hard on. They are wrong. Christoper briefly contemplated the pros and cons of taking matters into his own hands when exhaustion finally overtook him, and he passed into the deepest, dreamless sleep he’d experienced for some time. It was a measure just how exhausted he was that he did not even stir when his mother brought herself to screaming, moaning, utterly unhinged orgasm down the hall scant minutes later.