The first thing you notice when you reach the foot of the stairs is a familiar smell wafting in from the dining room -- a smell like teriyaki.
Not good. Not good.
You wander over the table and, with dawning horror, pick up the empty bento container.
There's no way Mom would have eaten this, right? She doesn't trust Vivian. So why--
But then, maybe Ms. Carte told her it was fine to eat? That doesn't make any sense, either. She knows it's spiked.
From the living room, you hear a scruffy sound, as of something rubbing on carpet.
As you pass through the foyer to spy into the living room, your eyes widen.
Sitting on her knees on the floor, masturbating furiously, is Mom.
She wears nothing but an apron, which is bunched up inside her cleavage, leaving her massive tits hanging free. With a flattened palm, she rubs her cunt in swift circular motions. Her other hand tweaks her dark, pert nipples. Her eyes are closed and her lower lip is twisted as she chews on it. She squirting a continuous stream of her juices all over the carpet, like a fucking animal, like she's pissing herself.
You would turn away -- you want to turn away -- but instead you watch, transfixed. For a woman of her age, and despite how plump she is, her body is in great shape. Her skin is evenly toned and supple. Her flesh undulates deliciously as she pleasures herself. The mound of her pussy is plump and soft-looking, the lips engorged and dark. Her bush is well-trimmed, but thick, and matted with her cream.
Maybe most enticing of all is the little "unhh" and "mhhh" sounds she begins to make, guttural and primal, womanly.
You want to hear it from up close. You -- you want to hear her grunting directly in your ear as you fuck her womb full of cum.
...Jesus. This is your own mother you're thinking about. What is wrong with you?
Yet even still -- your cock is hard and demands attention. Whether or not it's wrong, your body likes what you're seeing.
Trembling and with a stomach full of butterflies, you fall to your knees as well.
This is pure insanity. There is nothing separating the foyer from the living room. All Mom needs to do to see you is open up her eyes, and there would be no hiding from her. You are acutely aware of this fact as you unzip your fly and pull your reddened cock free from its confines. The knowledge that she could see you at any moment only makes you harder.
You masturbate to the forbidden show, greedily drinking in this image of your mother's body. Her mannerisms are just like Cerise -- the raw, animal need in her movements, the shamelessness. And the way she grits her teeth, the way perspiration pearls on her forehead, the way she teases her breasts.
It occurs to you how strange it is to be familiar enough with the masturbation habits of your older sister and your mother to compare them.
The only difference between the two of them is that poor Mom has no toys to play with. And you feel bad, because you can tell how frustrated she is, how badly she needs to cum herself silly, as quickly as possible. If only you could help--
At this, your rational mind crumbles. All you can see in your mind's eye are visions of crawling over to where she sits in the living room, pinning her down, and taking her right there. Would she fight you? Would she say no?
Or would she let you have her? Would she let you plunge your spurting dick inside her pussy?
You swallow hard and try not to make any noises, but when Mom's little groans become a wailing "aieeeee--" you shudder and let out a gasp of your own.
Instantly, you realize your mistake. You swoop to the side, doing a barrel roll, and slide from view of the living room.
But there was no way she didn't see you in that split second.
How much did she see? Did she see you stroking yourself off in front of her?
The pindrop silence from the living room is enough to tell you that she saw SOMETHING, however much that was.
You quickly shove your still-hard penis back inside your trousers. As you do, you hear the gentle rustle of Mom getting dressed in the living room.
When this awkward moment is over and you're both dressed and standing, Mom steps into the foyer. She clasps one hand around the jamb, steadying herself. You stare at one another. You're both still flushed and breathing heavily.
"Alabaster," she pants, "w-what are you doing down here?"
"I was just--" you try to think of some plausible explanation, something that will also hint that you saw nothing, that you weren't just peeping on her. But you come up blank. "--I just wanted a snak?" you say lamely. You avoid eye contact.
Mom gives you a strange look, but there isn't time enough for the conversation to continue before Cerise comes trudging downstairs -- probably to grab a beer.
"You guys look like you just ran a marathon," Cerise says, yawning and interlacing her fingers behind her head. She glances between you and Mom, and finally registers the awkward atmosphere.
"Geez," she says. "Who pissed in your cheerios? If I didn't know any better, I'd think I just walked in on you two having sex."
Mom blushes and scuttles off to the kitchen, quivering.
"You two are such weirdos," Cerise mumbles. She grabs her beer and heads upstairs, leaving you alone again.
Your stomach bile turns sour when you imagine what might have happened if you hadn't accidentally interrupted yourself just moments before Cerise walked in. How would Cerise react to you and Mom masturbating together? You feel short of breath.
You sit down in the living room to watch TV, trying to get your mind off what just happened. But you can't get those images out of your skull.
Mom's pussy -- her breasts and naked body -- what's happening to you, to be thinking this way about things like this?
Seconds stretch into minutes, stretch into what feels like hours. Your dick won't settle down. Neither will your heartbeat.
The old clattering noises of Mom cooking in the kitchen only serves to remind you that she's only a few feet away.
Should you go see her, try to play it off, pretend nothing happened? Or just sit out here, quietly? You can't think straight. You feel like a prisoner awaiting execution.
Ms. Carte returns home at around 4 PM, safe and sound. She plops down on the sofa beside you and sets to work on deciphering Damon's file. She seems a bit tipsy as she grumbles: "this is so dull... you better be thankful I'm putting forth so much effort for you. It's a good thing I filled up on that bento earlier. You don't mind, right?"
Oh. So that's it. She ate it -- not Mom. But then...
"No," you say. "It's fine."
Ms. Carte sits with her legs in your lap like usual, back against the sofa's armrest. Every once in a while she bites her pen and says "interesting... interesting..."
You rub her calves back and forth absent-mindedly while she reads. Her presence here would seem to have put a definite stopper on resolving the incident with Mom anytime soon.
But as dinnertime approaches, you hear Mom's voice call out from the kitchen: "A-Alabaster... would you please come help me for a moment?"
You cast a glance at Ms. Carte.
She shrugs. "Don't look at me. She's your Mom. Be a good son and go help her."
You push Ms. Carte's legs away and head for the kitchen.
"Sit down."
Mom pulls a chair up to a counter and directs you with an index finger.
"What do you want?" you say sheepishly.
She puts her hands on your shoulders and gingerly guides you into the chair.
"Taste this," she says, and shoves a ladle to your lips. It's filled with a rich and creamy chocolate sauce. You swallow it -- but only because the alternative is drowning on it.
"Geez," you say, pushing her hand away and coughing. "You're so pushy."
"Close your eyes."
"Now, come on--" She interrupts your protest by running her palms over your eyelids. She gives your shoulders a quick squeeze as her hands pass over, and then you sense her turning around to face the stove top.
"How was that first batch?"
"Awful," you say. "Disgustingly sweet."
"That's what I was worried about. Now?"
She forces another ladle to your lips. You try to open your eyes, but she chides you with a "nuh-uh-uh," forcing you to close them again. You sigh.
"Well? How is it?"
"Better. A little too much on the bitter side now," you say.
"Needs some sugar, then..."
You wait while she serves up what you think is another scoop.
But instead of a ladle's metal rim, what you feel against your lips in the next moment is another pair of lips. Mom's tongue pushes a sweet dollop of chocolate directly into your mouth, past your tongue, and down your throat.
Your eyes shoot open and you pull back. "What are you doing?" you hiss, trying to keep your voice low.
"Was that better? A little sweeter?"
"You're crazy."
"Oh please," she laughs, her voice also low. "Don't try to lie, now..." she strokes your cheeks with a cupped palm, her eyes dreamy and half-lidded. She licks the excess chocolate from your lips. "You liked it, didn't you?"
"Y-you're-- you can't be serious--"
Mom holds her finger to your lips, shushing you.
"Mama's body does things to you, doesn't it."
This, you sense, is not really a question -- she is stating a fact that you both know to be true.
She pushes her nose against the crook of your neck, nuzzling you. Her breath is hot against your skin.
"Mama's body makes you ache... down here..." she pets the crotch of your denim jeans. "Isn't that right, Alabaster?"
"No..." you lie, mumbling and looking at the ground, trying to brush her away.
Her hand rubs up and down against you in a very un-motherly way, cupping and groping you obscenely. She smiles seductively and refuses to be rebuffed.
"You don't have to lie. I saw you earlier."
You look her in the eye, face going pale, and gulp.
"You were jerking off," she hisses. "Because you saw me doing those things to myself. You couldn't help it-- it's okay, I understand. You're so young, you can't control your urges..."
"Mom--"
"Shh. Don't talk."
You obey. Your heart feels like it's going to burst.
"This is all my fault. Just look at how big and hard you are. You must be going crazy, huh? It's only fair that I should take care of it. Just lean back, let Mama help you... I'll make your cock feel real, real good."
She unbuttons your jeans. You help her remove them, your hands tugging them down in uncoordinated unison.
This marks the moment your rational mind surrenders: you're about to let your own flesh-and-blood mother service you to orgasm.
Mom pulls your boxers away, too. You sit back in the chair and she scoots up close, settling between your legs. Your cock twitches and throbs, lightly tapping against the tip of her nose. The red, veiny monster makes quite a contrast with your mother's smooth and pale face.
It's all you can do not to grab her by the hair and force yourself to the back of her throat.
She runs her nose up and down the length of your cock, inhaling deeply. Her eyes drift shut and a stupid, satisfied smile spreads itself across her face.
"The musk of a young man..." she murmurs. "It's been years-- Alabaster, do you know how unfair it is for you to walk around smelling like cum all the time? It's been driving me insane..."
She wraps her dextrous fingers around you and tugs lightly, producing a translucent drop of precum for her effort. She pulls her hair behind her ear and licks the precum up, smiling lewdly.
Her hand is hot and tender from long years of domesticity. She works your shaft with expertise, twisting, teasing the head, firmly gripping you.
Mom draws her other hand to her mouth and licks the index finger. Still masturbating you, she slides the wettened digit underneath you and prods at your rear hole.
You go bug-eyed with panic. Once more, you try to squirm away, but the delicious sensations coming from your cock make it impossible to stand. You're like an animal in rut, not in control.
"Your father loves this. Just sit back and enjoy it."
You bite your tongue as she rubs her wet finger up and down your anus. It feels ticklish, and decadent -- but she'd never actually try to stick it in, would she?
Would she?
She puts her lips against your dickhead and suckles on your cock, cooing. With her hand stroking your shaft, her lips working the glans, and a finger tickling you from behind, you're about to lose your mind with lust.
And suddenly, without warning, she slips her finger inside.
"Mom--!!"
Your anus clamps down, but it's too late. All that serves to do is make sure her finger is firmly embedded inside you. She grins devilishly up at you and continues to suck on your oozing dick, drinking down your precum.
Her fingertip finds its target: a tiny bundle of nerves buried deep inside of you, that you knew was there, but never knew could feel so good.
You try to keep from groaning. You fail.
"Does that feel good, baby?" she asks. She wiggles her finger in and out ever so slightly, brushing against your prostate. It's so sensitive that you can feel every bump and crevice of her fingerprint scraping against you.
"Mom-- Mom--" you pant, delirious.
"Shh, it's okay. I know how much this cock of yours must be aching right now. Let Mama make it feel all better."
"Mom-- I'm going to cum--!!"
"Do it," she says. "Let Mama see all that cream your body stored up after looking at her."
She starts corkscrewing her finger inside of you. This new sensation rubs your prostate laterally, flicking it side to side, and make the pressure in your balls feel close to bursting. You shudder. Your testicles tighten.
Sensing how close you are, Mom lets go of your cock. You groan in wild frustration.
Then before you know it, Mom adds her middle finger to your ass too. Your hole tightens around her fingers, even as she spreads them to gain access.
The pleasure of her fingers closing and opening like fleshy scissors on your prostate is literally mind-destroying. Even though you're a guy, nothing can compare to this feeling.
She looks up at you with glinting eyes. "Mama's face is your cum rag today," she tells you. "So feel free to use it lots."
That does it. Your jaw hangs slack, and even though absolutely nothing is touching your twitching cock, you spew a hot load all over your own mother's face. Her fingers milk you off from the inside as she buries her nose in the junction between balls and shaft. She allows your cum to splatter against her forehead and cheeks, staring longingly up at you the whole time.
As Mom takes your nasty load, you happen to glance over. Through slitted eyes, you see two people in the threshold to the kitchen: Cerise and Ms. Carte.
They watch as you blow cum all over your mother.
"Oh," says Ms. Carte. "Ohhhh."