He gave another moan with a hard breath that caught my attention. His naked body was moving in such a fluid, smooth manner. He gave that “unh” sound. That “unh” sound that lets a woman know that a penis is being immensely pleasured, and pleasured well.
That “unh” sound that makes a woman’s thoughts stop dead in their tracks with a realization that nothing else in the world currently matters right now except this penis getting the pleasure it needs.
At first, it seemed crazy, but my realizations settled on a singular notion that I was actually being privy to something special. A newfound sense of appreciation. A new sense of pride in my number one guy, just simply being himself and doing what made him feel good.
My son… was pleasuring his penis. He was PLEASURING… his penis.
That notion made me feel like he was now grown up. I was proud. I knew it was far from the first time he was discovering the pleasurable aspects of puberty, which would seem like a much more sensible and monumental occasion to play the cheerleader mom, but still. It made me want to burst from the closet and cheer him on. I wanted to wave my arms, and shout, “Do it! Just do it! Just do what feels natural, honey! Make your penis feel good as best you can and as much as you want! There’s no shame in this household!”
A light gleam of sweat was slightly reflecting on his lower back and bare bottom as he rhythmically mounted the towel. His body was giving off a musk that I could smell and sense all the way from the closet. He was in heat–in heat with that sexual and musky essence only a woman can really sense coming from his key areas–groin, chest, armpits, neck.
It’s the same for a woman’s body during a hardworking sexual act, too. And it’s not just the vagina like most men would point out. Our necks pulsate with it. Our boobs radiate with it. A man I briefly dated four years ago once admitted that the smell coming from my armpits as he pumped into me from on top was so good it made him cum harder into me than he had ever cum in his life.
That thought hit me, too. Eventually, my son’s penis would ejaculate. His semen would shoot and spurt out, and his body would probably shake. I wondered what kind of cummer he was. How does one finish when he’s ready after he’s been humping a towel?
Is he going to just let it out as he continues pumping? Or is he going to slightly lift his body up and grab hold of his hard member, jerking as the streams of cum shoot onto the fabric?
I wondered how much of something like that I’d be able to see from the distance and confines of my hiding spot. Would I actually see his semen shooting out? What form would it be? Sputters or smooth lines of streaming ropes? He has a good-sized dick, so I figured it would probably be long streams.
Then he slowed to a stop and caught his breath. Did he finish? No, he was reaching to his nightstand to pull down his laptop computer next to his pillow. Porn, probably. I’m guessing lesbians licking each other’s cunts, just getting mouthfuls of warm vagina that would make him blow in seconds.
I wondered if he preferred shaved, trimmed, or hairy women. My own vagina was very neglected as of late, hidden deep within the confines of a bushy Amazon rainforest. A smile curled at the edge of my mouth in thought, as if realizing for the first time in my seasoned age that I totally have such a mother’s vagina.
His fingers did some clicking on the keyboard and he seemed to pull a picture up. A picture. Very old-fashioned. I was glad he was taking an imaginative approach to his masturbation, and not the quick and easy route with a lazy video.
He fixed the photo on full-screen mode and resumed his grinding, giving soft moans as he turned his head away to relish in the pleasure and then refocused his eyes back to the image.
The image of me.
Holy fucking shit. At first, I thought I was imagining things, that with all my thoughts and analyzing I subconsciously put myself on that screen. But there it was, clear as day. A picture of me in a bikini from last summer.
My son was masturbating to me.
It nearly broke my brain. I had already been dealing with so much mentally throughout this “experience” that I didn’t know how to react. I was confused. I was surprised. I was in denial.
Mostly though, like my preceding thoughts before he resorted to the laptop, I was almost… flattered. Curious. Was he attracted to me? Did he want to have sex with me? Where did this come from? Could have fooled ME. I consider myself very perceptive, but until this moment, I’ve gathered no intel or signs that this was at all possible. He sure was good at hiding it around me. No comments, no subtle touches or looks.
But there he was, grinding into the towel and staring hard at me and my nearly-nude body. My son’s penis… was getting pleasure from looking at me. Me of all people.
And I was watching him do it. That was the plain truth I could immediately not deny to myself. I was no longer biding my time waiting for him to finish. My curiosity had already gotten the best of me; now it put me over the edge.
I knew things would never be the same, even if I left that room without him knowing I was ever there. I could never look at him or think of him the same again.
And yet, a tiny, minuscule part of me started burrowing its way up from my innermost taboo cores. I thought of stripping down naked and slowly snaking out of the closet to stand next to his bed.
Of course, he would probably jump up startled, and try to cover himself up in embarrassment. How’s that for a scare after all?
I would smile and reach down and gently touch his arm and tell him that it was okay. Not to be ashamed or embarrassed, that it made me feel wanted and beautiful. To ask if he would want to continue and let me watch, and let him look at the real thing in person. To not slam my foot on the gas pedal by offering for him to succumb to me, but maybe something simpler to start this journey?
Maybe ask if he’d like me to lay on my back on his bed where he could slide his penis back and forth between my boobs until releasing his semen on my collarbone and neck. He did like to grind, after all. “Just lay on me and grind into my naked body until you ejaculate, sweetheart,” I would nudge.
I wondered if he would catch a whiff of that womanly scent I thought about… if what that guy I dated really said was true, about smelling my boobs and armpits to make him cum. Smelling the musk from my son’s chest and armpits would almost certainly make me want to fuck. And smelling his penis and balls would most definitely make me go ballistic, so perhaps that would be too fast.
Ugh. I wouldn’t shower for a week if I thought at all that a stronger, more heightened and natural womanly smell would help his gorgeously erect penis ejaculate even the least bit harder.
He was moving faster and harder. He was getting close. His towel must be soaked with pre-cum by now. He gave his right butt cheek a light smack for the first time. Mmm. He was kinky. He had been going for a long time now. His penis must really need this so badly. I longed for him to release.
I kept calling out in my head to him, “Do it, baby. Keep going. Give into that tingling feeling and let it out like you never have before, sweetheart. Look at my boobs bulging from that bikini top. Imagine my hairy bush under that bottom piece. Imagine that sweet vagina, and you giving your love to it, because it’s what’s meant to be. It’s what’s most natural.”
God, I wish I could have the courage to step out of this closet and put his penis in my mouth until he quivered and shot down my throat. I wish he could mount my naked body and give me his seed as I’m telling him how much I love him! “I love you, sweetheart! Shoot your cum out of that penis for me! Make that penis feel so good until your eyes roll into the back of your head!”
And then he moaned, and like some secret, connected perfect cue, I could tell he was finally ejaculating into the towel. He gave one sweet, singular, drawn-out “unnnghhh” sound–music to any woman’s ears, because we knew that particular sound echoed how ultimately relieved the man was feeling at that moment.
That sound was also all that much hotter to us because we also understood that while we ladies spend the majority of a sexual experience moaning nonstop, the men are usually very self-contained with their noises, giving only a grunt, breath, or groan here and there while letting it all build up and saving it for a singular beautiful crescendo at the finale.
The fact I didn’t even have to do anything to provoke this made me feel supremely powerful. Biology is amazing. The image of his mother’s body, my body, was making his penis feel so good that it literally caused fluid to shoot and burst out. It made me feel like a goddess. “Yesss,” I quietly mumbled under my breath.
His body gave four or five good waves, his rear end clenching and his legs shaking with toes curling each time he let out a spastic surge of semen until his head collapsed onto his pillow and an arm hung dangling off the side of the bed.
He probably smelled incredible. I would have stayed in that closet all night if it meant he got to lay there completely relieved and relaxed.
But instead, I stepped out and stood there, waiting for his head to turn and see me.
The End
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