The air hung heavy and thick, saturated with the primal, musky scent of sex—a potent blend of my own release, the sweet, tangy aroma of Cathy's arousal, and the clean, underlying note of antiseptic that now seemed like a pathetic attempt to sanitize what had just occurred. I always knew I got this in me, and for me to externalized it into a reality, made me felt satisfied, and liberating.
I was still basking on the afterglow, that I stayed quite, the only sounds were our ragged breathing, slowly returning to normal, and the soft, wet sound as Cathy carefully sealed the lid on the second collection cup. It was now filled to a respectable level with my thick, opalescent seed. She set the cup down on the metal tray with a soft click that echoed in the silence. For a long moment, she just stood there, her back to me, her shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath. I could see the faint tremble in her hands. Then, she turned.
Her face was a masterpiece of conflicting emotions. A deep, satisfied flush painted her cheeks and chest. Her lips were swollen from their work, her eye makeup slightly smudged. But overriding the evidence of raw passion was a look of profound, almost reverent care. Her first priority wasn't herself; it was me.
She found a clean cloth, ran it under warm water at the sink, and came back to the bed. With a tenderness that made my chest ache, she began to clean me. Her movements were slow, methodical, and deeply intimate. She wiped the lingering sheen of sweat from my stomach and chest. Then, with a focused delicacy that was almost worshipful, she cleaned my cock. The warm, wet cloth glided over my sensitive flesh, now softening contentedly after its second, powerful release. She patted me dry with a soft towel, ensuring not a drop of moisture remained.
Only after I was spotless did she turn her attention to herself. She used the same cloth to wipe my cum from her chin and breasts, a faint, proud smile touching her lips as she did so. She pulled her blouse back on, not bothering with the buttons, letting it hang open. She then cleaned between her legs, wincing slightly at the sensitivity but with a look of deep satisfaction. She pulled her jeans back up over her hips, the wet patch now a hidden secret against her skin. As she washed her hands again, she finally spoke, her voice soft but clear, breaking the heavy silence.
"For such a long time," she began, not looking at me, focusing on the soap suds on her hands.
"I was so worried. I thought… I thought you might never want this. That you might never find pleasure in a woman's touch…." She rinsed her hands and turned, leaning back against the sink, her blouse gaping open to reveal the breasts I had just devoured. Her expression was open, vulnerable.
"I had made my peace with it, you know?" she continued, her blue eyes finally meeting mine. "I told myself, it's okay if my Sael is gay… It's okay if he prefers boys. As long as he's happy. As long as we can still be a family... That was all that mattered to me.".
She pushed off from the sink and walked over to me, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hand found mine, her fingers lacing through mine. They were still slightly damp and cool from the water.
"But this…" she said, her gaze intense, filled with a hope so fierce it was blinding. "What just happened… Sael, you have no idea how happy this makes me… It feels like I've gotten my son back. The real you… You've changed… Something in you has awakened. And I am so, so thankful for it.".
I listened, her words painting a heartbreaking picture of the old Sael's rejection. He had pushed away not just intimacy, but a fundamental part of the love these women were desperate to give. Their devotion had survived even that. The depth of it was staggering.
"Sexual education," she said, her tone shifting to one of gentle authority, though her thumb was stroking the back of my hand.
"Guidance… it's always been the duty of the family. It's how we ensure our loved ones are safe, happy, and know how to please their partners." She gave a soft, breathy laugh.
"I'm just… I'm so glad it was me who got to be your teacher today.". She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a intimate whisper. "Did you… did you like it, baby? Did you like what mommy did for you?".
"Yes," I said, the word simple, honest, and loaded with meaning. "I liked it very much.". The joy that radiated from her was a physical warmth. She beamed, squeezing my hand.
"I'm so flattered. So happy." She lifted my hand and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my knuckles.
"I want you to know something, Sael. If you ever… if you ever feel that need again, if you want release, or just to feel good… you can always come to me. Always. I love you. I always have. And I always want to please you. Making you happy… it makes me happy."
Inwardly, my mind was reeling. A permanent, open invitation from my stunningly beautiful, incredibly skilled mother? It was a fantasy made real. I felt a daring thrill course through me.
I braved a question, my voice casual but my eyes watching her closely. "What if… what if I wanted more than just a handjob or a blowjob someday, Mom? What then?"
Her reaction wasn't shock or hesitation. It was immediate, eager acceptance. Her eyes darkened with promise. "Then I would love to do that with you, my darling... Whenever you want it. However, you want it… My body is yours; I will always welcome you...". Then, her expression shifted. The raw lust was tempered by a sudden, serious maternal concern. It was such a jarring, perfect shift it almost made me laugh.
"But,". she said, her tone firming up,
"You have to promise me something. If you are with any other girls… any other girls outside this family… you must wear a condom. Do you understand me? It's for your safety and theirs.". The reminder was so mundane, so mom-like amidst the debauchery, that I was genuinely taken aback.
"Shocked that's your reminder, Sael, it might sound mundane… but it needs to be said, we don't know what those girls out there have… better safe than sorry, Sweetie…".
"What about everyone at home?". I felt emboldened to ask, A slow, wicked, knowing smile spread across her face. The serious mom was gone, replaced by the sensual woman once more.
"Inside this family," she purred, her voice dropping back to that husky register that went straight to my groin, "you can do as you please. But…" she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered, "I really prefer it bareback." She pulled back and winked at me, her smile wide and so inviting to me.
The door hissed open, breaking the spell. Dr. Moretti and Nurse Tanya stepped back in, their expressions a comical mix of professional curiosity and poorly concealed personal hope. Their eyes immediately scanned the room, taking in the two filled collection cups on the tray. A flicker of disappointment crossed their features—disappointment that they hadn't been the ones to help fill them. But it was quickly replaced by genuine shock and professional admiration.
"Fifty milliliters," Dr. Moretti said, her voice breathless with disbelief as she picked up the cups.
"This is… this is an exceptional yield, Mr. Hardcox... Truly impressive." Her eyes met mine, and in them, I saw a clear, unspoken offer for the future. Nurse Tanya nodded vigorously beside her, her gaze also hot and promising.
We were led back to Miss Reis's office. Cathy, now fully dressed and composed, stood beside me with a proud, almost possessive air. Miss Reis took the cups, her eyebrows rising a fraction of a millimeter—the equivalent of a standing ovation from her.
"Fifty milliliters is well above the required volume for a first donation," she stated, her voice its usual crisp self, though I detected a note of something… perhaps respect? She made a note on her slate. "At the standard rate of five dollars per milliliter, your stipend for today will be two hundred and fifty dollars. It will be deposited immediately."
She looked from the cups to me, her flinty gaze assessing. "A more than satisfactory start, Mr. Hardcox. Keep up the good work."
Pleased, and significantly richer, we left the GRMD office. The ride home was quiet, but the silence between Cathy and me was no longer filled with worry or the ghost of the old Sael. It was thick with a new, electric understanding. She drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh, her fingers giving me a gentle, possessive squeeze every few minutes, while my hand rest on top of her bare inner thigh. She let me do whatever I wanted to do, no matter the time, no matter the place, and from the moment, we left, she had proven that to me that she meant it, and I loved every second of it.