The Trouble With My Son’s Cock – Part One

erotic literature, sexy stories, female erotica, erotic short stories, free erotica, adult fiction, caffieri.com, XXX stories, erotic fiction, short sex stories, erotic super shorts, adult stories, sexually explicit stories, porn stories, short erotic stories, kinky sex stories,  erotic stories on YouTube, humor, xxx short stories

By Lauren McAllister

Being a mother has lots of wonderful rewards… every so often. Very, very occasionally. Sometimes they have sleepovers somewhere and you actually have night to yourself.

I may not be America’s No. 1 mom but Peter, even at the very bestest of best times, had not been as easy child to raise. Plus, his damn father was out of town half the time leaving me holding the entire parental bag. But, even if Petie had five parents present 24/7, with guns, he still would have been massive a pain in the fucking ass.

From his very earliest days, Peter was the proud owner of the world’s worst temper. It was like I’d given birth to Yosemite Sam, for Christ’s sake. The tiniest little thing would have his fists up in the air, swingin’ at anything his knuckles could reach. One guy, two guys, a crowd… ? It didn’t matter. When I think of the bumps and bruises and cuts I’ve had to bandage up and kiss better over the years. Well, it really dusts my dander just thinking about it.

And that’s not even including all the schools he’s been expelled from. The playgrounds he’s been banned from. When he was twelve years old, Toys “R” Us took out a restraining order on him!

Well, you get the soul-destroying idea.

Despite a hockey-rink-full of bad life decisions, Pete had managed to dodge the inevitable. Namely, getting the living fuck beaten out of him. That all changed in his last year of high school. Mr. Furious got into a basketball game with some seven-foot dudes down by the duck pond. At some point, someone ran a rather hard pick-on-roll on him and Petie started removing teeth. Only, my sweet little pugilistic angel is five-foot-ten and while he was punching up, there were five guys circled around him punching down. A neighbor found him unconscious under a pile of rutting drakes.

The next five days were spent in hospital and then he had to be carried on a stretcher into the house. Amazingly, Peter didn’t get into a confrontation between the ambulance and his bedroom. It must have been the pain killers he was on. When I saw him lying on the bed, he looked he’d been shoved into a giant Slap Chop machine. Even I felt sorry for the little fucker.

The paramedics seemed to take forever rearranging his room and getting him settled. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in the kitchen, sobbing like Lucille Ball. Something had to change. He was going to get himself killed unless I stepped up and spoke some hard truths to the bastard. And let’s face it, speaking hard truths to absolute bastards is just what a loving mom does. So, I slammed back a shot of Jack and went into his room for “the talk.”

But once I entered General Hospital (The Home Game), and saw him lying there like James Caan in “Misery,” the angry part of my prepared speech just wilted away. Maybe I should have had a second shot of Jack.  

I sat down beside him on the bed and smiled comfortingly. “Hey you. Maybe you should think about taking up playing badminton. The competition is way smaller.”

Petie giggled but that caused him to grab his stomach in pain. I felt terrible. “This was probably more a time to cheer him up than brutally chastise him,” I decided. I’m his mother; I had the rest of my life to do that second part.

As I was sitting there, being Mrs. Sympathetic, I must have absentmindedly put my hand on his crotch. I was completely unaware of my faux pas until I sensed something moving. “It” was beginning to grow. Yikes. I was touching my son’s boner! I didn’t know what to do. If I whipped my hand away, I’d be acknowledging that I had a hold of his doowanger. If I left it there? Well, mothers get put in jail or on XHamsters.com for doing stuff like that. So, I simply pretended not to notice. The plan was to leave it there for another minute of so and just keep talking casually. Then I would make some sort of gesture and my hand would be free of this touchy-feely nightmare. But, as I talked fake-cheerfully about absolute shit, waiting for that perfect moment, his willy kept growing and growing!

I hadn’t seen Pete’s little rocket since he was about 9. Like every mom, I used to give him his bath but once he started to like me washing certain parts of his body a little too much, I decided he was probably old enough to do his own ablutions. Who knew that that cutesy-wootsy wiener of his would grow up to be such a monster! He certainly didn’t get it from his father, that’s for goddamn sure. If only!

I don’t know where my headspace was at that specific, horrific moment but my mind had obviously wandered.

“Ah, mom…?”

When I mentally came back into the room, I realized that I was squeezing Pete’s member. Jesus Christ! Now, I did whip my hand away. Like his cock was made out of bees. I mumbled something unintelligible about supper – even though it was 1:30 in the afternoon – and ran out of the room.

Shit!

I spent the next two hours pouring my heart out into martini glass. What a fucking embarrassment. But also, what a Johnson! So, there I sat, mortified but absolutely fascinated by my son’s enormous knob.

Right about the time I was licking up the last few molecules of my 4th Tanqueray and vermouth, I heard a plaintiff cry emanating from Petie’s room. Oh God, that’s right, he’s bedridden. He’s going to need me to do stuff for him. So, I packed my humiliation and shame away for the moment and went in to see what he needed.

He was holding up “the flagon.” It’s a cute plastic receptacle that invalided patients pee into. That’s the easy part. Someone else has to go and empty it and that someone was going to be me for the next couple of weeks. I have to say, there are better jobs out there than carrying around a big jug of warm piss. My hat is sure off to all those nurses.

The next couple of days were busy ones. Feeding him, emptying flagons and bedpans (which made emptying flagons seem like picnic in the Poconos) and masturbating to the image of Petie’s pecker every chance I got.

The thing I hadn’t really contemplated occurred on the third day.

“I need a wash.”

“What?”

“I’m starting to smell. You’re going to have to give me a sponge bath like they did in the hospital.”

Bathe him!? Christ, I was still suffering from PTSD – Parent Touching Son’s Dick. Just the thought of taking off his pajamas and sudsing him up sent multiple icy bolts of terror down my spine. I smiled calmly. “Are you sure you don’t want your father to do it when he gets home?” I hopefully inquired.

“No, I fucking don’t” came Petie’s carefully measured reply. “When’s he going to be home, anyway?”

“Just a short couple of weeks. I’m sure the time will pass before you know it.”

“I’ll be up and walking by then. I need a bath now!”

Okay, I’ll admit, I may have had a couple of martinis while I was gathering up sponges and soap and shit, but their consumption was absolutely medicinal. I’d spent the last couple of days wanking myself blind fantasizing about Petie’s pant lizard. Now I was going face to face with my disgrace.

A tad tipsy, I wobbled back into the room and dropped my ass down on the bed. “Well, where do you want to start,” I asked.

“I’m no expert, but isn’t taking off my pajamas usually the initial step?”

Nobody likes an invalided smart-ass, dickweed.

Getting his top off, while painful for him, was fairly easy for me. But once I started to tug down on his bottoms and more and more of his lower pelvis became exposed, my stomach started inventing new knots to be tied in. And then out flopped his lady pleaser. Even soft, if was a pretty formidable size. I made a mental effort, no matter how parched I’d become after those martinis, not to lick my lips as I proceeded.

It took a little trial & error to sponge bathe him but by the time I’d finished with his chest and arms, things were going pretty smoothly. The lower legs and feet? A snap. But, as I started to work my way up his thighs, that darn thing began to grow again and I was headed straight for it?

By the time I was toweling off his hip bones, it was fully charged and I noticed it levitate off his stomach a couple of times. It seems I wasn’t the only one being bombarded with rude and inappropriate thoughts.

“Spread your legs please,” I said as nurse-like as possible.

After he complied, I went to work on his big, beautiful nutsack. My pussy was tingling and sparking so much, I was afraid it was going to set fire to my panties. My nipples were threatening to poke right through my bra. Petie’s penis lifted up a few more times as I gently probed into every nook and cranny around his bulbous nards. Yes, I spent more time on those two bouncy little fellas than the rest of his body combined, but dirt can really accumulate around there if you’re not careful.

“That feels good,” Peter offered.
Oh my God! Do I keep doing it” So I say something? Do I move on up to the big guy? I covered my index and ring fingers with soapy water and ran them down his scrotum and circled his asshole. He audibly moaned! My own pucker hole tightened considerably. If there was really a hell, I was buying a E-Ticket to the hottest part with the thoughts that were ping-ponging around my brain at that instant.

I retrieved my fingers from no-man’s land and cupped my palm over his shaft. Oh lordy! You could have irrigated Mauritania with my underwear; I was so wet by this point. My soapy hand moved up and down his long, thick cock. Regardless of former resolve efforts, I’m absolutely sure I was licking my lips. Pete was just lying there as still as the dead. I think he was afraid that if he reacted to what was going on, I would stop. I’m not quite sure if I could have stopped at this point. It was so hard and pink and wonderful. “Remember to breath, Barbara,” I told myself as I slowly peeled back his foreskin and revealed his jumbo-sized, perfectly shaped head. This was the delicate part of the operation.  You have to be very careful washing an erect penis – and yowsa, was this one ever erect! – because if you get soap down the urethra when it’s hard like that, it stings like a motherfucker. Funny I should use that word, isn’t it?

So, to avoid any undo stinging, I brought my face in close as I rubbed my fingers around the underside of his helmet. That’s when I felt a hand on the back on skull, pulling me in even closer. Obviously I should have put a stop to everything right then and there but I just let him pull me closer and closer until I opened my mouth and felt the smooth skin of his engorged knob passing over my lips. This was undeniably insane.  I don’t know what got into my head (besides his schlong). It was like, as long as his hand was holding me there, I had permission to suck his cock because I had no other choice. I’m not sure how I justified my hand simultaneously messaging his gonads but let’s blame that on the martinis.

It had been such a long time since I had performed this particular act but my son didn’t seem to mind my rusty technique. It felt so good to have his young, closely-related, rock hard member banging against the back of my throat. Suddenly, I sat bolt upright, yelled, “I’m hot!” Then I took off my top and bra and went right back to sucking. Peter was squeezing on tits like he thought they dispensed hand cream. I was jack-hammering his schlong while licking the undercarriage of his head and waiting for that big spray of hot jism to cover my hungry tongue. And BOOM, Petie didn’t disappoint. He began to writhe all over the mattress like he had an ant farm in his colon and then all hell broke loose. Gush after gush of his delicious goo shot to the back of my throat. I sucked and swallowed, suck and swallowed until every last drop had been extracted from the tip of his dick. The joy and satisfaction of a job well done filled me with a warm sense of well-being.

That was followed by was a small moment of serious reflection. As I crouched there, topless, with my son’s spent cock in my mouth, I wondered what I should do next. Once I sat up, what was I going to say? “Would you like some lunch now?” “Do you want me to turn the heat down?” “How ‘bout them Chargers?”

After Pete’s pee-pee had gone completely limp, I pretty well resigned myself to facing the incestuous music. I let his flaccid fun stick fall from my lips and looked him right in the eye, “If you ever tell anyone, I will cut this thing off and feed it to next door’s dog. Do you understand me?”

He nodded contritely.

Oh, if only my troubles would have ended there – but the rest is for Part Two!

Exclusive to Caffieri.com and Patreon!

A free favorite steamy story read by the ever-lovely Caleigh!

Please Subscribe and join our Patreon family.

Copyright Lauren McAllister 2021

%d bloggers like this: