Good Golly, Mrs. Mommy!

I took my mom's surprised head with its open mouth and
planted it over my stiff fuck tool! "Don't mind me,
honey. This will be far more relaxing than a martini!" I
cried. I began using her head to masturbate my pulsing
cock. It was show time! I was so horny and gleeful at my
audacity, I didn't consider the thousand unpleasant and
even dangerous ways my mother could react. (MF, inc,
strange)

***

You know how it is, when it's your birthday, and you've
unwrapped your presents, and you blow out the candles on
your birthday cake, and everyone wishes you 'HAPPY
BIRTHDAY!!' and they sing songs and swat your butt,
except everyone is only your mother, and you want to
fuck her more than anything?

Well, I don't care if you think that's messed up, or
that I should cut off my dick and sew it into a bloody
hand bag. When you consider what happened next, you
wouldn't care either!

"Dear, would you please fetch my hand bag?" Mother
smiled. She wiped a big glob of whipped cream from the
corner of her mouth and licked her fingers. "Just think,
in a couple years, we'll be able to celebrate with
something more potent than chocolate cake and ice
cream."

"Sure mom." I reached for the diminutive imitation of a
carpetbag sitting on the kitchen counter. I handed it
over and watched her pry into its packed contents.

"I'm so glad you took that home economics class, your
cake is delicious!" She was kind not to mention that
whipped cream was an unusual frosting for chocolate
cake. She continued to mine her purse. "Here we go."
Mother pulled her hand out of her feminine rucksack and
held up a condom.

"Do you know what this is?" She gave me a stern look.

"Yeah mom, it's a rubber." What'd she think, that I was
out of the loop of ninety nine percent of my high
school, like fundamentalist Christians who aren't
allowed to use the letter 'x' in case they might spell a
frightful, three letter word with it?

"Oh, pooh." Mom instantly sulked. "I know we should have
had this talk sooner, but now that you know, I guess
you'll be wanting to drive the car.

"Mom, I got my license a year ago." Something weird was
going on with her. I peered closer at mom. She didn't
look drunk, and I hadn't seen her drink anything except
bottled water.

"Really, and what would your father say about that?"

To this astonishing remark, I said nothing. My dad, her
one and only husband, was pushing down Valkyries and
tossing back beers in Valhalla. I believe I gaped.

"Don't give me that look young man. What if you got into
an accident? The family Desoto would be ruined, and your
father wouldn't be able to commute to work. Why, he'd
have to take the bus like one of those poor, unfortunate
Negroes."

'Negroes?' I pushed my chair back and seriously
considered shitting in my pants. Hell, black guys in the
school's computer club would serve my ass for tri-tip if
I ever called them Negroes. And as for a Desoto, wasn't
he a Latino middleweight?

I burst out laughing. "Right mom. That's a good one."

"Hmmph! You listen to me, young man. I'll not have you
disrespect me like that. It may be your birthday, but
you're not too old to be sent to your room."

My wholehearted laugh caught in my throat and gagged me.
I coughed and continued to cough. I could hardly breathe
with all that freaky in the room. Any second I expected
Rod Serling to crawl out of the oven and give me the
Heimleck maneuver.

"Off you go. You can think up there, about what I said,
while I clean up this mess. Don't forget to take your
presents."

Out of sheer incredulity, I stood up, grabbed my gift
certificate for Wal-Mart and my three new Gamera DVDs,
walked out, up the stairs, and into my room.

This had to be part of some secret plot to surprise me
on my birthday.

I went over the day in my head, trying to detect a
pattern.

***

I woke up, heard mom showering, and waited in my bed
until she'd left our bathroom. My mind drifted, trying
to imagine my mother's firm hips and quart sized
breasts, their nipples swollen, water sweeping soap suds
down her tall, slim figure. I grabbed my boner and gave
it a hardy wanking, wondering if mother ever wanked her,
as I imagined it, puffed out clit. It's a great way to
begin the day and pass time while the bathroom was
occupied.

After my own shower, I met mom in the kitchen. She
kissed me on the cheek and wished me happy birthday. I
helped her make breakfast. My mom isn't the greatest
cook. She's more likely to heat a packet of instant
creamed cereal than whip up Eggs Florentine. We
compromised and had scrambled eggs with my special hash
browns.

Yeah, I got plenty of kidding taking a Home Ec. class,
but a couple girls went out of their way to help me,
although I admit I wasn't so brave as to ask any of them
out. I did get an A in baking. So naturally, it went
unsaid that I would be baking the birthday cake. I could
think of nothing abnormal about my mom this morning.

I gave my mom a list of ingredients to pick up at the
store. She would meet me at noon, and I'd use the
school's kitchen after my classes. I already had
permission. I didn't particularly like our own kitchen
oven, it had a nasty habit of dropping 30 degrees in the
middle of a two hour chateaubriant.

When she met me at noon, she handed over an ice chest
with all those yummy chocolate cake ingredients. She
hadn't spared any expense, gourmet chocolate sauce,
dutch cocoa powder, bittersweet chocolate chips, organic
flour, milk, eggs, butter, whipping cream, cane sugar,
and real vanilla extract. Mom helped me lug the chest to
the school kitchen closet. It didn't fit my locker.

"Good luck, Hank. I'm glad I won't be around to screw it
up by accident." Mom grinned. She was totally competent
as an jet engine mechanic, but she employed kitchen
tools with the same 'big wrench' attitude as her work
tools.

There was nothing odd about mom at lunch time. The first
grief in my day came from an unexpected direction. When
the school bell finally rang, I dashed to the kitchen
eager to craft some rich chocolate cake. I could taste
the tender goodness, smell the warm, intoxicating scent
in my head. It would be a long wait while it baked.

It turned out to be a very long wait. There, standing
around the open closet and opened ice chest were six
guys from the hockey team. Their mouths were covered
with dark sauce, and they pulled on the milk carton like
they were partying at a kegger.

"What the FUCK! That was supposed to be my birthday
cake!" I screamed at them. I didn't know I had it in me.

The biggest one of them looked my way and chuckled.
"Happy birthday twerp. You're welcome to whatever's
left."

"Sorry." Another turned to me and grinned. The other
four grinned and said 'likewise' down the line. They all
burst out laughing. Daring me to confront them more. I
stood there simultaneously furious and petrified with
fear.

Having finished raiding the 'good bits' in the ice
chest, they filed past me, laughing all the way out the
door. The last one cracked an egg over my head. He had
the nerve to explain the obvious.

"Loser, we're jocks. When we see an opportunity, we take
it. Malcolm spied you lugging the chest in here and
overheard you say chocolate to that old broad. Your mum,
eh? Not a bad looker for someone who had a boy as ugly
as you."

The door slammed behind me, my body quivering from their
threatening subtext. Egg white dripped down my nose. I
think I had a fit then. The immediate afterward is a
blur in my memory. I jumped up and hollered, cursing
them. I cursed myself more. After washing my head in a
sink I took inventory of what was left: three eggs,
whipping cream, butter, and a sack of flour evidently
used in a game of catch. Even the vanilla bottle was
missing.

One of them must have been able to read the word alcohol
on the label. I was upset, but I wasn't devastated. I
prowled around the kitchen looking for something,
anything that might help me get a grip. In the far
corner of the same closet I found a cardboard box of old
food stuffs.

Most schools don't offer cooking classes anymore, but
Mammoth H.S. was as slow to change as it's mascot. The
stuff I discovered must have been collected over the
years, things that normally wouldn't go bad. Baking
soda, navy beans, various spices (probably flavorless),
dried mushrooms, powdered sugar, and a few box mixes for
stuffing, baking chicken, and flavoring sloppy-joes. At
the very bottom, I noticed an ancient looking logo for
"Aunty Rocker's Devil's Food Cake". It was an old box
mix for chocolate cake.

The date stamp on it... hell, there wasn't a date stamp
on it. The trademark date for the logo said 1947. I
didn't care. Two hours later, I returned home, ready to
celebrate my birthday. The only thing that bugged me
was, mother didn't seem to notice the difference between
one of my modern oven wonders and this trite effigy to a
woman's place in the home. She had two helpings.

I carved a narrow slice but couldn't swallow more than a
few bites of its sawdust like consistency. I begged
baker's snacking as an excuse for being full. I did
notice mom's extra helpings of whipped cream and ice
cream with each slice. Perhaps she was just being
polite.

That's when she pulled out the condom. Shit, I exclaimed
to myself as I entered my room. I poisoned my own mother
with fossilized cake mix! All those chemical stabilizers
and texturizers and artificial flavors and colors must
have combined into a hella-psychoactive drug! I'd better
call the doctor!

Right, and tell her what? Mommy's acting like a
sourpuss? She's delirious, under the influence of bad
cake? I'd hate the see the doctor's bill for that
emergency phone call. All I could do was sit on my bed
and cross my fingers, hoping her immune system would
fight off the chemicals.

A couple hours later, boredom and a genuine worry about
my mother forced me out of my room. I hadn't heard a
peep from mom since she'd ordered me to leave. I found
her in the living room, sitting straight up on the
couch, staring at the curtains like a prairie dog.

When she heard me sit down beside her, she blinked. "I'm
afraid your father must be delayed at work." She patted
my knee and tried to look consoling.

"Mom, dad died three years ago." I chose to remind her.
I thought maybe I could snap her out of it, but my own
memory of his loss welled up in my heart.

She simply stared blankly, neither at me nor the window
curtain. It was like I'd turned off a robot. I sat with
her for what seemed like an hour, but she didn't move.

Eventually, I started to get horny. This is not as
absurd as it sounds. If I didn't get horny at least
three times a day, I'd feel like my hormonal balance had
begun it's slow decline into middle-age.

I found myself staring at my mother's tits. She still
hadn't moved. I fingered the growing tent in my pants,
trying to push it flat behind the zipper. When she
didn't take notice, I took a good look. I leaned in
closer, trying to see through her top.

Was that a hint of a dark circle behind her bra? My
fingering became a light tapping. The cock in my pants
had begun it's death march. I knew I'd have to blow a
wad soon, or I'd be in blue ball hell. Mother didn't
move a muscle.

I touched her arm, but she didn't react. Her skin felt
terribly warm, as if she were running a fever. I placed
the back of my hand to her forehead. It was hot. I felt
a light sweat on her brow. I noticed her face glistening
like a perfect, porcelain doll.

I couldn't resist. I reached my arm around behind her
and brushed the far side of her covered breast. My cock
did a dance in my pants, but it didn't shoot. I wasn't
that close. I felt her move then. She looked up first
and then at my invading hand. Then her head swiveled
back and her eyes met mine.

"Oh honey, I have a terrible headache. Maybe we can do
this another time." That said, she smiled, stood up, and
walked away, up the stairs to her bedroom.

I was the one who didn't move then. My mind was flooded
with incredible ideas, and my cock thrilled at every
one. When I heard her door close, I opened my pants and
released the throbbing beast that commanded me. After
several hardy jerks on my prick, I shot fourteen
tablespoons of sperm into the carpet.

***

The next morning, I was able to get into the shower
first. When I went down to the kitchen, mother wasn't
anywhere below. Hell, she's going to be late for work. I
had almost forgotten the night before. I raced upstairs
to her bedroom and pounded on the door!

"Hhuhnn?" I heard a weak reply. I turned the knob and
opened the door just a crack. Mother was lying in bed,
arms and legs askew, her partially opened skirt and
shirt clung half on to her body. My dick instantly
responded. I stepped inside. "Mom? Are you okay?"

"Oooohhhhh, I have the worst headache!" She tried to
rise, but failed. Her half covered underwear caught my
attention for more than a few seconds.

"I'll get you some ibuprofen." I rushed back to the
bathroom and pulled the bottle from a shelf. I filled a
rinsing glass and brought them both to her. I had to
feed the tablets into her mouth and hold the glass up to
her lips. I sneaked another peek at her chest. There
really were dark circles visible through her bra.

"My arms feel like dead weights, and my stomach is
fluttering. How much did I drink last night?"

"Are you kidding!" I gulped and nearly told her she
hadn't drunk a drop.

"What happened? I must have been blitzed. Oh Hank, I
hope I didn't ruin your birthday."

"You don't remember?"

"The last thing I remember was you blowing out your
candles."

"I-I had a g-great time, mom. You just got a little
carried away." I improvised. Some of those ideas from
last night were filtering back into my head. All of them
had to do with what she'd said. 'Maybe we can do this
another time.'

Already, I was telling myself that my mother wasn't all
that worse for the cake she'd eaten. She looked better
and better the more I looked at her.

"Oh, I'm going to be late for work. You'd better scram
to school. I'll be fine. Just grab something quick for
lunch, and I'll see you tonight. Have a great day, my
full-grown boy." She smiled then, quite unaware that I
was growing great lengths in the presence of her
disarrayed clothing. I could even see a corner of her
white cotton panties. Only with great regret did I leave
mom and rush off to school. Before I left, I checked the
refrigerator to make sure the rest of the chocolate cake
had been saved. It had.

I returned home, I swear, before the school bell
finished ringing. At first I thought I'd entered the
wrong house. A coat rack I'd never seen before greeted
me at the door. There were pink throw pillows on the
couch, and several orderly rows of collector dinner
plates had been attached to the far wall. The place was
spotless. We never lived in squalor, but the best you
could call mom's and my lifestyle would be 'casual'. The
furniture was rearranged, and there were plastic liners
on the recliner and couch. Whoa, what kind of maid
service had mom hired this month?

I entered in a bewildered haze, not paying attention to
subtle sounds and smells emanating from the kitchen. My
home had shifted into the alternate dimension of some
black and white sitcom! I hung my backpack on the coat
rack and took off my wind-breaker. I let it fall to the
floor. The front door remained open behind me.

"Honey, are you home?" Mother sang tunefully from the
kitchen. Then the smell hit me.

"Mom, are you cooking? What is that foul..."

"It's fish. Friday is fried fish, remember?"

She must have been trying to make deep fried sushi from
rusted cans of tuna cat food. Mother appeared, smiling,
at the doorway. A frilly dress with pleats and layers
covered her from shoulders to ankles. It's pastel green
clashed with the living room's deep purple, oriental
rug. She stepped over to me quickly and planted a solid
peck on my cheek.

"It's been a long day without the man around the house.
But I managed to fill the time. How was your day, hon?"

"Mom, did you eat any of my birthday cake today?"

Mom gave me a surprised look. "Oh, I guess you caught
me, ha, ha. I doubt Hank likes the cake he made. What
could compare to a mother's home cooking? I wondered why
he didn't cut a slice before he ran out this morning. I
figured it was fair game after that."

Hank? Third person? What was I, tuna fish? The smell was
oppressing my ability to think clearly.

"Uh, that's okay, mom. What's for dinner?"

"You must be famished after a hard day at the office,
poor thing. I'll get your slippers while you sit and
relax. How about an extra dry martini?" My mother kept
smiling cheerfully as she darted around the room,
patting the recliner, checking the closet for slippers
that weren't there.

"Here they are." She pulled out a brand new pair and
fetched them over like a dog happy to greet its master.
"I made you your favorite, dear, tuna casserole with
American cheese."

Oh shit, she thought I was her husband! (Not my father,
but some false icon of a husband.) Oh fuck. Crap! What
am I going to... Oh... PING!!! Oh?

Now my brain had something to help fight the nasty odor
in the house. That something was my erect cock! The
epiphany which hit me then convinced me that my secret
lust's time had come. As the husband of a properly
obedient wife, I could write my own scenarios and mother
would be my inspired actress.

"Um, don't bother with the booze, err, honey. I'll just
sit and think, while you finish in the kitchen." I took
my place in our plush recliner. The plastic immediately
molded to my back and clung to every inch of exposed
skin. Right away, it made me itch.

Mother knelt down before me and began untying the laces
on my sneakers. I could see her cleavage, her full lips,
her cheerful eyes. I lost it then. My cock could take
only so much. I unzipped my pants and fished out its
full length through my jockey shorts.

Mother looked up and froze. What was this?

If I had guessed right, sex wasn't even a thought in her
head. It never existed before the sixties, at least in
her mind. How could she object to something that was
morally neutral? If holding up a condom was her entire
lecture about human sexuality, then she was begging for
some serious study. Words of immense wisdom returned to
me from the previous day, 'When you see an opportunity,
take it.'

I took.

I took my mom's surprised head with its open mouth and
planted it over my stiff fuck tool!

"Don't mind me, honey. This will be far more relaxing
than a martini!" I cried.

I began using her head to masturbate my pulsing cock. It
was show time! I was so horny and gleeful at my
audacity, I didn't consider the thousand unpleasant and
even dangerous ways my mother could react.

For the first ten or so poundings of her face to my
prick, she remained frozen. She began to melt as I
continued to fuck my cock into her jaws. Her mouth
softened and her tongue began to lick the under-shaft.
The tip of it tickled my balls at full insertion.

"That's right mommy, get a good taste of your boy's
cock. He's had a tough day at school." I stopped acting
like her imaginary husband on purpose. I wanted to fuck
my mom as her son, no matter how psychedelically her
brain had been fried. My hips pushed more cock into
mother's mouth.

I felt her head move on its own volition. Her plump lips
seared across my shaft quickening its pulse, my pulse.
My hand relaxed and there we were fully engaged in hard
pumping and sucking, time ticking down swifter and
swifter. My balls lurched and churned. Muscles
contracted and sperm leapt.

"Oh, mom, don't let go. Swallow it, every shot, thaaaa,
uuunnnggghhhh! Aaaaahhhhhggg!!" Vulcanized cum blasted
from my dick and seared her throat. Jet after jet scored
into her mouth. Mother's mouth sucked and gulped, my
full cock poured its cumload down to her belly, jerking
over and over until muscles failed and balls ran dry. I
held her head and gasped for breath. I could hear air
roar out of her nostrils. She could barely breathe.

Pulling my softening cock from her mouth, I told her,
"You're a peach, honey." It was the first corny line I
could remember from 'My Three Beavers' or whatever that
show was called.

Her smile wasn't the same, but I'd give it an A for
effort. She blinked and looked a bit confused, but
whatever that cake did to my mom, it sure was effective.
Sunshine peered around her shadow of doubt and lit my
lower body. She actually kissed the side of my cockhead
as if it had a cheek.

"Dinner will be ready in five minutes." She reassured
me.

In five minutes, my cock would be ready. I eventually
wandered into the kitchen and took my place at the head
of the table. The food was horrendous! Imagine tuna fish
mixed with mayonnaise stirred into half cooked pasta and
dried peas. Now add a layer of artificial yellow
pavement across the top and you end up with broken
utensils and no appetite. The green beans on the side
were brown and mushy. The potato could have been used as
a wheel block, and the milk, even the frigging milk
tasted it like it had been pissed in.

"What did you do with the milk, mom?" I asked as I ran
to the sink to flush the rest down the sink, rinse the
glass, and fill it. Sink water tasted better than that
milk.

"Oh honey, is it bad? I guess I must have left it in the
sun while I was preparing supper.

"When did you prepare supper."

"Right after lunch. Are you ready for dessert?"

My cake! I rushed to the refrigerator, but the cake
wasn't there. Suddenly through the thin smoke in the
kitchen, I noticed a peculiar, sweet, burning odor mixed
with the rest of my mother's attempt at making phosgene
gas. The oven!

A gout of smoke poured out as I foolishly grabbed the
hot sheet supporting what was left of my cake. "AAAHHH!"
I screamed when the sheet seared my fingers.

"Oh honey, let me get some butter for that." Mother rose
delicately and searched the refrigerator. "I thought the
cake would be more delicious warm."

Unfaltering, I snagged a towel and finally rescued the
cake. It was covered in charred whipped cream. I
despaired to the point of tears as I set the smoking
half circle of cake on the counter.

Mother reached me and began to cool my blistered fingers
with the butter.

Paying her no mind, I took a knife and scraped off the
charcoal coating. To my immense relief, the cake beneath
was fine. "Um, mom?"

"Yes dear?" Her smile beamed once again.

"Let's save the cake for tomorrow." I hugged her then.
My lips found hers and kissed them fully. I even tried
to stick my tongue into her mouth. My cock was ready for
round two.

Mother pulled away from me, and she slapped me playfully
on the shoulder. "Really, honey you ought to behave. I
have such a headache. Maybe we can do this another
time."

I wish I had raped her then. We were down to half a
cake.

***

The next morning, I couldn't tell if mom was worse off
for the drug.

She had looked so devastated the day before.

"Mom are you all right?"

"Oh, Hank, did you get the number of that truck?" She
was holding her head and teetering in the bed. Her only
clothing were panties and a bra. The society dress lay
on the floor next to the bed.

"Let me help you in the shower." I suggested.

She swatted my hands away. "I'm not decent sport, better
clear out. How could I have gotten so wasted a second
day in a row. Did I even go into work yesterday?"

I answered her from the doorway. " I think you slept all
day. Maybe you've caught some weird bug, mom. Aren't you
glad it's Saturday?"

"Sick on a weekend? Crud. Better stay clear, Hank. I
wouldn't want you to catch this thing. There's a Rolls-
Royce turbofan on afterburner incinerating the inside of
my skull.

Closing the door to a discreet, hairline crack, I called
to her.

"How's your appetite?"

"My mouth feels like it sucked co..., err pickles, all
night long. I don't want anything. Make yourself
something." Then softer, "Maybe a shower is the right
thing."

I heard her drag herself off the bed. I hightailed it
into the kitchen.

When the shower turned off, I gave mom ten minutes to
dry herself and dress. I returned to her door and
knocked.

"Feel better?"

"A little bit."

I opened the door and peered in.

"Hey! Don't come in!"

There was my mom. She'd just put on her panties and was
fumbling with her bra. Her soft tits hung off her chest
like two small cantaloupes. No wonder I was in lust with
my mother. I associated skinny tits with anorexics and
fat tits with either obesity or silicone. Mom's were
perfect for me, her nipples were also sized in dark
moderation. That was all I could glean before pulling
back behind the door.

My cock raged to touch them. "Hey mom, maybe a quick
bite before you begin your day." Without looking inside
again, I set down on the carpet, the saucer I had been
carrying and slid it through the opening. I placed a
fresh glass of milk, from a new carton, just inside the
door.

"Cake?" Mom wondered aloud. "For breakfast?"

"Yeah, mom, I even made fresh whipped cream. The
original cream didn't keep very well." I had more cream
waiting for her, inside my pants.

"You didn't have to trouble yourself. My stomach is
still kinda queasy."

Drat! She wasn't going to fall for it.

"Oh, maybe just a bite. A little sugar might stimulate
my appetite. I tell you every time you're sick that a
little food keeps your metabolism strong. It's time to
take my own advice."

"YES!" I yelled silently. I heard the fork rattle on the
dish. She was still shaky from her 'hangover'.

For the first time, I would be able to measure how long
the cake took to invoke it's effect. I doubted I could
wait very long without grabbing my dick and shooting a
few ropes of cum through my mother's door, but I steeled
myself for the effort.

It took exactly fifteen minutes.

"Hank, you'd better not be late for school again, or
I'll have to have a talk with your teacher! Don't forget
to bring your report straight to me. I'll have a star
waiting for every 'A'."

It was all I needed to hear. She was back to living a
five day week. I rushed inside the bedroom. She stood
radiant in her blue, pink flower bespeckled, house
dress. Even her hair had magically transformed itself
into a piled bouffant. I tackled her in the middle of
her room and drove her back down upon the bed.

"What in mercy's name?" She cried out.

I fumbled for my cock, pushing my pants down my legs. I
straightened up and gave her a good look at my rampant
organ.

Just like the previous night, she froze, this time
spread eagle across her bed, legs dangling over the
side. I lifted her dress above her thighs and revealed
her white panties. I pulled them down off of her legs
and leaped on top of her.

"My goodness, what is all this?" She sputtered, staring
wildly at the ceiling.

My cockhead found her pussy, but it didn't slip in. She
was dry. Reaching between us, I aimed my cock where I
thought cunt was, and I thrust myself inside her.

"Ooowww! Hank, are you sure you're not going to be late
for school!"

"Mom, you sure may be late for your period!" I answered
with a roar and fucked hard cock into unwilling pussy.
It was hard on me too. Her dry cunt scoured my penis,
but I didn't care. I was finally fucking my mother.

"Oohh, it's so good, mother! I can hardly wait to fill
your insides with my backed-up load of sperm!"

"That's okay, honey. I'll clean up the mess in the
kitchen. You just run along."

I was running, running my engorged prick inside and out
of the hole where I was born. My lust drove me like a
sprinter. I could feel her cunt passage begin to
lubricate. Her warm folds massaged my cock like no mouth
ever could. Our frictioning tissues were soon bathed in
mommy cunt juices and son prick pre-cum.

"This is great mom! I'm fucking you so great!" I
couldn't believe it. I was raping my own mother, and she
didn't have a clue about what I was doing to her.
Whatever that cake had, it was better than any date rape
drug I'd ever heard of. My cock plunged with glee. My
body was already sweating and twitching. My nerves
ramped up their pleasure force faster than ever.

"Yes, you go right ahead and collect your things. Do you
need mommy to drive you to school?" I felt her pushing
back with her hips. Cunt sucked cock deeper with every
thrust. "Oh dear, what's that?" My mother suddenly cried
out. Her son knew before she did.

My whole body detected the first spasms of her own
natural reaction. She was getting ready to blow too. If
only I could make it last, but my long repressed lusts
could be delayed no further.

"I really need to vacuum around here!" Mother yelled
ecstatically.

My cock was bursting to plant seed into its place of
origin. I could feel the wave of my orgasm rush up from
my prick and down from my brain, filling my arms and
legs and exploding out from my center.

"I'm cumming, mom, I'm UUUNNNNGGGGHHHH!!! COMMMING!!!!"
My cum rushed out from my balls and blasted the walls of
her cunt, forcing jism through the iris of her cervix.

"Huh-HUH, UUUHHHGGG, 'urry up, son!!!" She screamed
then. I could feel her cunt contracting and sucking each
jolt of incestuous cream into her womb. "We don't want
to be LAAAAHHHH-ate!" Her arms wrapped around me and
hugged me hard against her tits.

Even as I continued to cum, I was tearing at the top of
her dress, revealing her bra and working to release her
tits. I sucked on them like a mad motherfucker.

"Ohhh, ooohh," Mother began to cool down. "Honestly,
Hank, this is not the time to be fooling around! My
hair, it must look a-fright. Whatever am I going to do
with you?"

"I think you should suck on my dick." I stopped
engorging my face on her tits and crawled up over her
ruined house dress. When my knees reached her shoulders,
I fed wet meat into her bewildered afirmament. She
sucked.

We spent entire day worshiping my cock. I fucked,
sucked, blew, screwed, and spewed into my gorgeous
mother until she was black and blue. I shot load after
load of salty, hot cream into her baby maker until my
balls went numb from the effort and my cock couldn't
hold more than an inch upright.

***

The next morning was the same, except she woke up with
an even worse headache and had bruises all over her
body. I told her she needed to see a doctor. I lied to
her about an appointment, but before we left I offered
her another slice of cake. We never made it out the
door. In fact I even convinced her I was the sick one,
and she wrote an excuse to be absent from school for a
whole week.

The day after the first rape of my mother, I eased back
my ardor and was more careful about leaving telltale
marks. I did leave my day's production of incestuous
sperm in her belly.

We repeated our little play every day for the rest of
the week. I didn't try to cheat myself. I cut the same
size of cake slice each time. It was going to run out
eventually, and I didn't want her to be only half
drugged. She had every right to haul my ass off to jail
and dare my cellmates to plant their seed inside me. Oh
no!

When the last slice was consumed and consummated, I went
back to a strict diet of whacking off but with better
memories to cum over. It took a couple weeks before I
could bear to take the cake platter out of the fridge.
(I told you our house wasn't the tidiest.)

Mother was writing something in her worker's maintenance
journal at the kitchen table. I couldn't stop myself. I
set the platter on the counter and walked up behind her.
I reached around her waist to cup her tits, wanting to
massage them one last time.

Mother spun around, and she slapped my face, hard!
"Hank! We may live in a fairly free thinking, modern
world, but everything has its limits." She scolded me
sternly. That's when I knew it was over. I took the
empty cake plate to the sink. Mother shook her head. She
probably felt bad about having to react so harshly.

"I'm sorry to say it, Hank, but I'm glad that cake is
finally gone. I don't think it was very good for me."
She patting the slight but steadily growing bulge in her
midsection. "I thought I'd recovered from that terrible
illness, but recently I've been waking up sick to my
stomach. It's almost as if..."

"No, I'm sorry, mom." I interrupted her as I scraped
crumbs into a sealable sandwich bag. "I can make a
better cake than this one." I sneaked the bag into my
pocket. Tonight I'd hide them far in the back of the
freezer. "Who knows mom? When I begin college next year,
maybe I learn all sorts of secrets in organic
chemistry."

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