Mike was 14 and a natural athlete. Whatever sport was in
season, he played. He was good at all of them and great
at some. It was at a baseball game where an inexperienced
player slid into second base, spiking Mike's left leg and
breaking it. There was knee damage as well, so Mike was
now laid up with a cast almost hip to heel. And Carol was
taking care of him, enjoying being needed by her
increasingly independent son.
Carol and Mike had always been close. He wasn't a mama's
boy by any means, but was sweet and very sensitive,
especially after his dad moved out. Mike was nine at the
time and the two of them gave each other much needed
comfort and support then. The first night, he heard Carol
crying in bed and crawled in with her, talking to her,
stroking her hair and finally falling asleep beside her.
After that, without either of them saying anything about
it, he slept in her bed every night. Sometimes they'd
talk, sometimes not--but Carol was happy to have another
presence in the bed with her. She slept naked--had done
so since she was a teenager--but didn't think much about
it.
Mike saw her naked often when he was that age and seemed
to not even notice. She and Ray were very casual about
covering up around him then. But one morning, she awoke
to find him sitting cross-legged on the bed near her
shoulder, touching her nipple gently with one tentative
finger, his face wearing that serious, inquisitive look
she often saw.
That night, she had him start sleeping in his own bed
again. It made her sad to sleep alone, but she didn't
think he should be in her bed anymore. From that day, she
made a better effort to cover up, too. Although the flea
market vintage kimonos she favored for around the house
had a knack for gapping open at the top or falling away
from her thighs, so she knew Mike still saw things from
time to time.
Now it was Saturday afternoon, a week after the accident
that had him mostly confined to bed. He could hobble to
the bathroom on his own--and refused her help on that,
thankfully--but it still hurt to stand up for any time at
all, so the rest of the time he was in bed. She had gone
back to work that Monday, guilt-ridden, but had no
choice.
She left the phone by his bed and made sure there were
snacks, beverages, books and the TV remote all within
reach. And she came home at lunch, bringing take-out food
and stories to break up his day. With it being summer, he
didn't even have homework to occupy him she was glad to
be off today, to spend some time with him--she knew how
bored he was. They had watched old movies together 'til
the wee hours the night before, Carol sitting beside him
on the bed, so she let him sleep.
Finally in the afternoon, she heard the TV and brought
him some lunch on a tray. As she opened his door and
walked in, a wall of funk hit her. Gasping a little, she
set the tray on the bed and crossed the room and threw
open the window. Mike was not the neatest kid when it
came to his room, but this was different--this was body
funk.
"Mike, you stink, son. Bad. You need a bath."
He tapped his cast with his knuckles. "Yeah, right."
"Well, you need to wash up or something."
"I can barely stand up to pee, Mom. How can I stand up
long enough to wash up?"
"Well, I can't stand to smell you like this. If you can't
wash yourself, I'll do it."
"Mom..." he protested.
"Right after you eat lunch, I mean it. Jeez!" And she
waved her hand in front of her face as she walked out.
Mike knew that tone--not bossy, but dead serious. There
was no way around it.
Sure enough, twenty minutes later Carol walked in
carrying a basin of warm water, towels, soap and a
washcloth.
"Mom..." Mike tried once more, weakly.
"Michael, I've bathed you many times before. I know
you're growing up and it's been a while, but you're still
my little boy. Now let's just get this done. You'll feel
a lot better when you're all nice and clean." She set the
basin on a chair beside the bed and surveyed the scene.
He was wearing only some old cotton pajama pants--Carol
had cut off the legs to make it easier to get them over
the cast. She had Mike roll on his side and spread towels
on the bed--the sheets would need changing anyway, this
was just to not soak the mattress too much.
Then she began. She started with his face and neck,
looking at his hair for a moment, but not being ready to
deal with it now. Mike had to admit--to himself, not to
his mother--that the warm soapy cloth felt good. And the
whole experience -- the smells, his mother's touch, even
the quiet, tuneless humming she was doing now as she'd
always done before -- made him remember those bath times
long ago and feel very protected right now. Carol rinsed
the cloth, wrung it out and wiped the soap from his face.
Then she washed each arm in turn, holding his hand up to
get all sides. He laughed a bit when she got to each
armpit.
Next, she helped him sit up and gave his back a good long
scrub, turning the skin red with her vigorous rubbing.
This felt especially good since he was spending so much
time lying on his back now. While she still had him
sitting up, she moved to his chest and shoulders. The
muscles surprised her. She knew he played sports--a lot--
and worked out with weights in the basement, but she
hadn't touched him like this in a while. He really felt
more like a man than a boy, or at least what she could
remember a man feeling like.
Suddenly Carol was feeling stirrings she hadn't felt in a
long time, and she sternly reminded herself this was her
little boy. Mike was struggling with feelings of his own
now. As his mother washed him, her kimono gapped open,
giving him an unobstructed view of her right breast,
smallish and firm, the ruddy nipple hard from her own
excitement (this last fact Mike didn't know). He looked
away--at the TV remote on the bed, at the wooden clip
clothespin holding her kimono shut (the sash was probably
in the laundry somewhere)... but his eyes came back to
this lovely breast before him. His mother's breast. As
the washcloth brushed across his own nipples, he
remembered that morning when he was nine that he'd
touched that very breast--that very nipple.
Finally, Carol laid him back down and gave his muscled
but still mostly hairless torso a final wipe down. She
had stopped humming some time ago now and the room was
silent except for the occasional splashing of water, the
rustle of her kimono against the bed.
In spite of herself, Carol was absolutely aware of every
sensation--the roughness of the cloth and Mike's muscled
body through it, the slippery feel of the soap, her own
hard nipples brushing against the inside of her kimono.
She washed his left foot up to the cast, being careful to
not get it wet. Then she started on his right leg,
picking it up as she had his arms. Only it was much
heavier. She rested his ankle on her shoulder and began
washing, soaping first his lower leg, then his knee, then
his thigh.
She washed up to his cutoff pajama leg, then a little
further. His toes lightly brushed against her ear. God,
she was beginning to feel lightheaded. Moving his foot to
the bed so his knee remained bent to keep the soap off
the bed, she rinsed the cloth. Then she wiped the soap
from his leg slowly, methodically, knowing what came next
and not sure how she'd get through it. Still, it was what
had to come next, wasn't it.
Finally she lowered his leg to the bed and reached for
the snap on his elastic waistband. Mike made no protest
now. It all seemed so natural to him. The snap popped
open in her fingers and he shifted his weight the best he
could, letting her wrestle the pajama pants off him. She
held them up gingerly between forefinger and thumb,
saying, "I should probably just burn these."
She meant it to come out like a lighthearted joke, but
her voice sounded thick and a little wavery. Carol could
feel her heart pounding in her throat. She rinsed the
cloth thoroughly, then soaped it again, still not looking
at him--at it. At last, there was nothing else to do, no
other way to stall. She could hand him the washcloth and
tell him to wash himself, but that would be admitting to
him (and to herself) that there were things going on
besides a mother bathing her child. Besides, some part
deep within her wanted to see it, touch it.
So now she turned and looked. Looked at her son's penis.
God. He really was becoming a man. There was sparse
reddish hair at the base. And the penis itself was
surprisingly long and, at the moment, somewhat swollen.
As Carol looked at it, it suddenly twitched and rolled to
one side, sending a shockwave through her. Was he getting
excited? Migod, she'd better get this done and get out of
there. With her cloth-covered hand, she first washed
around the base, darkening the curly pale hair with soap
and water. Then she reached around under his penis,
cupping his testicles gently in the warm, damp cloth.
Mike's cock twitched again, bumping against her bare
wrist. Another shockwave, right down to her very core.
Carol stopped once more, rinsing and soaping the
washcloth. It felt warm and wet and slippery in her hand.
She imagined what it would feel like against her own
inflamed pussy right now--imagined how it would feel on
her son's cock (at what point, she wondered, did she
start thinking of it as a cock, not a penis). She looked
down to find him definitely more swollen than before. Not
quite erect, but starting to stand up.
At this point, there was no turning back. She wrapped the
warm cloth around him and began to wash. Immediately, he
grew in her hand, becoming long, hard, and erect. She
turned to look at him, but his face was turned to the
wall. She knew he felt humiliated now. Still stroking him
(her hand seemed to move of its own accord), she spoke
softly, soothingly. "I'm sorry, baby... it's okay, Mikey.
It's really okay."
He said nothing. She rinsed the cloth one last time, then
wiped the soap from his fur, his balls and finally from
his still hard shaft. She couldn't help but marvel at it,
stare at it. It was as long as Ray's, not as thick yet,
but much harder than Ray ever was toward the end with all
his drinking and other excesses.
Unable to stop herself now, Carol had to touch it once
more, without the intervening cloth--feel the flesh of
her hand on the flesh of her son's hard cock. Silently
asking forgiveness (from whom?), she reached out and
wrapped her fingers around it. Her own sex was throbbing
now, so wet. Mike's cock felt so hard, yet so soft and
alive in her hand. She glanced quickly his way.
He was still turned toward the wall, but somehow seemed
to relax a little. Her thumb moved slowly up and down the
underside of the shaft, then up to the head, where it
found a drop of precum. God. Holding him so lightly now,
she began to stroke him. Carol managed another sideways
glance and found Mike now watching her hand on his cock.
No embarrassment or revulsion in his eyes, just a sense
of wonder. She continued to stroke him.
It had been so long, so damned long, since Carol had felt
anything nearly this wonderful. Still, even moments ago,
she couldn't have imagined she'd be doing this now. Ever.
And certainly not what she did next. Leaning forward, she
kissed the head of her son's cock--just a light brush of
her lips, really, but enough to feel his precum on her
lips, taste it with her tongue. She kissed him again,
this time a series of kisses on the underside of his
shaft, from the tip down to the base, ending with her
lips grazing his balls.
She dared not look at him now--clamped her eyes shut, in
fact--but his soft moan urged her onward. Kissing her way
back up his hard shaft, she slipped the head into her
mouth. And she paused briefly, tasting it, savoring the
clean, soapiness mingling with the taste of sex...
running her tongue around its ridge, across the very
tip...
Then she took more of him into her mouth. And more still.
And she began to suck, using her lips, her tongue... Mike
moaned again, so soft--a question almost. Her fingers
continued to stroke him near the base, his fine hair
tickling her palm. She felt hot, from her scalp to the
backs of her knees.
Then Mike touched her. His hand in her hair, so gentle--
not like Ray pushing her head down on his cock. Just
touching her hair, caressing it. Now she chanced a look
and found him looking at her, looking into her eyes with
such love. The son's love she'd seen so many times, but
now something more, too.
Carol held his gaze now as she sucked him, even more
excited to have him watching her do this, take his penis
into her warm, wet mouth. Mike's hand moved down the back
of her neck, across her shoulder, resting there. Then his
fingers reached inside the neck of the kimono, closing on
the fabric, tugging at it.
Taking her hand from Mike's hardness for a moment, but
not her mouth, she shrugged her shoulder out of the
garment, let Mike pull it from her. The clothespin popped
loose, clattering to the floor. The kimono fell away. And
Carol was naked. Watching him still, she saw his eyes
move across her body, felt his eyes move over her
breasts, down her back, along the curve of her hips...
Even at 38, Carol was still lean and firm, blessed with
good genes, but also just plain fit. But her hips were
generous, her ass rounded. Mike's hand went to her
shoulder again, then slid slowly down her back. Carol
swung her hips toward him, inviting his hand. It lingered
on her ass, stroking the soft, smooth skin.
She watched him watch his hand on her body, sucking him
more urgently, stroking his cock a little faster as her
own excitement welled up within her. Mike's hand moved to
the inside of her thigh now, gripping it, stroking it,
moving up between her legs. He hesitated only a moment
before touching her sex, cupping it in his hand. Carol
gasped, the sound muffled by Mike's hardness in her
mouth.
Mike's fingers were now rubbing her outer lips, so
incredibly wet with her own juices... rubbing,
exploring... then a finger slipped inside her. Then two.
Mike matched the pace of her mouth on his cock with his
fingers in her pussy.
Suddenly, Carol felt her son's cock go more rigid,
becoming even longer. She knew he was about to come and
this knowledge pushed her closer to the edge. "M-mom?" A
question blurring into a moan.
And then he exploded into her mouth, filling her with
hot, salty come. And she swallowed it hungrily, moaning,
gasping, gulping, about to come herself. Her ass moved
more insistently now, pressing against Mike's fingers. He
turned his hand, the fingers now side by side,
approximating the thickness of a cock.
Carol screamed as she came, his dick still in her mouth,
muffling the sound. Her hips rocked against his hand, and
she came in waves, again and again, seemingly forever,
until she finally slowed, then stopped moving. With a
final long suck, she let Mike's now softening cock slip
from her mouth. And his fingers slipped from her pussy.
She turned to look at her son now in shy amazement. His
expression mirrored hers. Then he smiled at her. She
reached out to stroke his hair and smiled back.
"Well," she said.
But neither of them could think of anything else to say
right then, so they left it at that. Leaning forward, she
kissed his forehead, a tender, motherly gesture. Then his
cheek. Then his mouth, this kiss not so motherly--then
suddenly not motherly at all, mouths open, tongues
exploring...
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 1