Self Comfort by lavacock

Self Comfort by lavacock

Explore a steamy adult sex story about self-comfort and intimate pleasures. Indulge your desires with this provocative tale that will leave you wanting more.<br/>
Now my father was away looking for something to do, and on this night I woke from thirst. The hour was late and there was no traffic noise at all. The sound of crickets played against the conspicuously absent noises of the street. Strangely, there was a light on in the living room. I thought I heard whispering voices, a feminine giggle, could that be my mother? The voice was girlish and I wasn’t sure it could belong to her for she usually had a voice that was both serious and soothing. My mother never giggled, but it sounded like her anyway.

I was 18 years old when I walked into the living room. My mother was there and I felt my heart expand as I always did when I saw her. But then I noticed that my mother was not alone, no she was with someone, a stranger I didn’t know, a man, and she was sitting on this man’s lap, with her pretty blonde head buried in the space above his shoulder.

This was impossible. I could not move from where I was, could not withdraw back into my room. I was suddenly numb, unable to speak or retreat or move forward.

My mother didn’t see me and she started to kiss the man’s face, lick his cheek.

The sight of my mother seated on this man’s legs with her arms rapped around his neck and her lips pressed against his cheek, hiding the man’s face, was unreal. Impossible. I was riveted to the spot and shocked voiceless, once again. Inside myself, something seemed to fall into a pit.

I stood there for an endless moment, which in my mind has remained engraved all my life, a stamp of shame. That is my mother and that is wrong, I felt it in my genes, something very wrong is happening. Then, the man upon whose lap my mother sat noticed me.

The man’s voice was unpleasant in my ears and I instinctively hated him for presuming to take the place of my father. I had never seen my mother sitting on my father’s lap. Never the less, this imposter in the living room had no right to be where he was, and this I knew for a fact.

” I think your son’s gotten up.”

My mother jumped up from the man’s legs and sat down on the sofa. The man’s cock was sticking out of his zipper and he moved quickly to hide the throbbing red evidence of what was going on.He stuffed his swollen member back into his pants as if he was couphing and needed to twist around not to do it in my mother’s face.

She called me to come over to her but I wouldn’t, couldn’t move from where I was. Tears started overflowing from my eyes, but before I exposed this weakness in front of that man, I ran back into my room and closed the door.

My mother didn’t follow me.

I was angry but I felt something in my groin glow with pleasurable heat. An orgasm was ready to burst out my young and as yet unstroked cock. It stuck up and made a little tent out of the blanket, and I couldn’t get the growing itch out of my mind, but I didn’t know to touch it yet.

After a while I heard my mothers door close and then something very strange, for I heard my mother ask the man to lock it. I heard this even though there were two closed doors between us, as distinctly as if I was standing besides her.

My mother never used to lock her door.

I started to stroke my cock, for the first time finding out that the skin is like a tongue, the flesh can taste so sweet.

I heard moans and groans and a humping and muffled pleadings to ram it in deeper and to stick it up her ass. “Fuck me .” My mother was begging and I heard her as I stroked my cock…but then she opened the door suddenly and burst into my room. ” I told you. Stop playing with yourself. Leave that thing alone . You will go blind.” and scared I let my meat alone and it withered. I already had glasses just from looking at her naked body when she washed herself in front of me, telling me all the time not to touch my cock as she rubbed her own pussy. She was wicked.

In the morning, everything seemed normal. I almost believed that the incident in the night had been a new type of nightmare, a strangely real bad dream. But the memory had the stamp of reality impressed on its fabric. There was no avoiding the truth of the experience. It was real, and I knew there must be some explanation for my mother’s behavior. After all, she was otherwise mostly predictable in the things she did. This sudden break in the patterns of our life must somehow fit into things in a way that I didn’t understand. I woke up with my cock hard and still in my fist, I was holding myself and it felt so right, so good. The pain of my discovery wasn’t quite so sharp.

But like always, afraid of the consequences, I let my comfort go.

I almost succeeded in turning my hurt and bewilderment into curiosity. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that I had discovered something frightful and threatening about my mother. This thought was so horrible that I negated it as improbable and tried to formulate a question, the right question. If I asked my mother the right question, her answer would put my mind to rest. This had happened so many times in the past, it was surely the case now, wasn’t it?

I did not pay any attention to what went on in school that day.

This was the third school I had started the last grade in. During the last year we had moved twice. Each time into an apartment with cheaper rent. My mother was spending the money my father had left for the family’s needs while he was away, very quickly. She was making herself into a woman he could easily divorce.

I spent the day at school wondering how to ask my mother about the man she had spent the night with.And rubbing my self through my pants as the teacher walked by me.

What was the reason she was doing something like that? There must be a reason. But no suitable question came to mind. I didn’t want to blame my mother. She was almost never angry, but when she was, her anger was devastating and violent. The few beatings I had received, had been systematically cruel. She would strip me naked and rub my ass cheeks together round in circles till they were red and my cock would get hard between her knees, but she never let me come, no, not me. Though I loved her with all my adolescent heart, I was not unafraid of her. I thought that to ask the wrong question would evoke my mother’s anger. This had something to do with the fact that she chose not to follow me to my room. She had ignored my pain. Just like the times she had beat me. She did nothing to ease the aching member that glowed in the dark almost from the heat she put in it. But no, she wouldn’t deliver the goods, she never let me come and I was afraid to come alone.

When I got home, the door was open but my mother was not in the house. This was not unusual for she often went to the neighbors, where she had a friend, a divorced woman with a young girl my age. I played with myself a while but never daring to let more than a few drops of semen hang from my piece of heavan.

I sat down at the table in the dining area, an extension of the living room. There was a glass of milk and some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut into perfect triangles on a white plate .

Underneath the plate was a note from my mother saying she would be home in a short while. I stared at the note and without understanding why, I started to cry. Silently.

Tears rolled down my cheeks and I treasured the sensation for there was something sweet about it . What I didn’t like was the lump in my throat and the ache in my chest, an ache that seemed to be nowhere in particular but everywhere at once.

From where I sat, I could see the sofa. Now it was empty, but in my mind’s eye, I imagined my mother and that man sitting together, very close, touching.I saw her rubbing the penis sticking up out of his lap. I saw her sucking on it like it was a nipple with love juice saturating her throat. I felt very curious about it all, and also very sad.

The pencil with which my mother had written her note was on top of a pad of paper in the middle of the table. The pencil was very sharp for the few lines my mother had written in her light fluid script were not enough to blunt its point.

I reached across the table and pulled the pad of paper towards me. I picked up the pencil and pressed the point into my thumb. I did this until I felt the beginning of the pain and then I held the pencil like that against my thumb, pressing slowly harder to see how much pain I could feel before relenting. When the tip of the pencil broke through the first layer of skin, the pain suddenly increased and I pulled the pencil away from my finger and scribbled out the following note :

“ I don’t understand why you like to sit on some man’s lap who isn’t my father. “

That’s all I wrote. But I was not conscious of wanting my mother to read the note. It was not the right thing to write her. It just came out that way. The simplest truths are impervious to rationalizations no matter how sophisticated these are. So I crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it on the floor where my mother was sure to find it. I just couldn’t think of the right question. I ate my sandwiches and drank my milk and then determined that I would go outside and look at neighbors windows, hoping to see some female bodies moving around in the nude. I would go out until late in the afternoon, when my mother was sure to be home. I had decided to forget all about the incident, never to mention it to my mother, just forget about it and hope I would never have to see that man again, the man with that unpleasant voice. I knew my mother well enough to know she would not mention anything if I didn’t. Let it be like that.While I was out I watched two dogs fucking like it was the end of the world. Maybe it was.

When I came home it was already getting dark and my mother was sitting on the sofa waiting for me when I walked in. I somewhat expected to be scolded for my being away for so long without telling her where I was. I walked into the room, my cheeks red from the cool spring air, and looked up at my mother who seemed very perplexed. She was sitting with her knees crossed, wearing the slacks and sweater she usually wore for housework. Her blond hair was kept in the hairdo of the times, and her red finger- nails were long and drew one’s attention to the length of her narrowing fingers. When one had gotten over the striking beauty of her face, one might have noticed her poise and elegance, successfully affected with much intelligence. She was a very attractive woman and she was 36 years old. Her husband had been away for five months and he was twenty years older than she was. He was failing in business, losing all the riches he had acquired to buy her what would ensure her continued presence in his life. He was very much in love with her. They had four children together. She loved them dearly for as long as she had help caring for them. She could no longer afford such help. Afraid of her own lack of warmth, she felt nothing but desperation and a desire to run away. She had a very wild streak in her, successfully hidden from husband and children, until I caught her. She was losing her battle to rein herself in. No, she was at this point actively blowing her life apart, escaping the trap.