I wonder if my mother masturbated thinking about my cock?
His cock jumped at that thought, and he tightened his grip around it. Maybe she fucked herself right here, on this shower floor, imagining that it was me, her own son, on the other end of that cock. Does she orgasm faster when she thinks of me? Does she get wetter? He thought thoughts that he should never be thinking. He thought about what her pussy looked like, or what those breasts and the nipples in their center would taste like, feel like over his tongue, twisted between his fingers. He thought about what it would feel like to come inside his own mother, filling her up with her son’s seed.
He closed his eyes at that last thought, bracing himself against the wall of the shower, now steadily beating his cock over and over, up and down, masturbating to his mother, to the dildo on the floor. He hadn’t really touched it, not yet. The shower lay behind him, forgotten, filling the room with steam, and he casually reached back and flipped it off before continuing to stroke, over and over, his eyes closed tight, his brow furrowed at the beautifully incestuous thoughts filling his mind.
He felt himself get closer and closer to the edge of his orgasm when he heard movement in the master bedroom. His mother. Just the thought of her separated from him by some glass and the door of the bathroom had him gasping, leaning onto the glass in front of him. He was there, on the edge, teetering above his orgasm. He could feel the buildup in his balls, feel his penis grow slightly as it filled with cum. He beat faster and faster, almost willing the semen out of his body.
He heard a small gasp in front of him, and his eyes snapped open. His mother stood in the bathroom with him, staring at him, watching him beat off. It was like his imagination had willed her into existence. She stood in black panties and a tight, tight top that did nothing to hide her breasts and her apparent braless state from the way her nipples threatened to poke through. She was staring right at him. No, she was staring at his cock, watching him whip his hand back and forth across his pole. He immediately brought down his other hand to cover himself, to maintain some modicum of modesty, but it was too late.
He shut his eyes again as he came, over and over, spurting cum directly at his mother. He hadn’t even meant to, but it was like the tip of his cock sought her out, wanting to cover Alice in her son’s seed and arousal. The only thing that protected her was the barrier in between them, the glass wall that separated him and his perverted thoughts from his pure, innocent mother.
By the time his orgasm subsided, post-nut clarity beginning to hit his brain, his mother was gone. There was almost no sign that she had even been there in the first place, other than a slight layer of condensation where her feet had touched the tile. He wasn’t sure if he had imagined what had happened – his mother in front of him, her wide eyes not on him, but very specifically on his throbbing, hard cock, watching him ejaculate. He hoped he had. This was a disconcerting, embarrassing situation to be in.
Then his senses returned to him, the wave of orgasm long past. He looked up. The glass wall in front of him was glazed in thick, heavy cum, slowly sliding down the pane. Even the dildo hadn’t escaped the torrent of semen exploding from his cock. Steam was rising, covering the glass wall – or at least the parts that he hadn’t covered himself. To his horny eyes, it had been the hottest thing he had ever seen. To his now non-horny eyes, it was almost assuredly a disaster. His mom – his beautiful, loving, caring mom – had caught him jerking off to her dildo. To her.
Panic set in. He started wiping down the glass frantically, impatient to leave the scene of the crime. Maybe he should have sprayed it down with cold water, thought through the whole thing. Would’ve been the smart move, no doubt. But Jacob wasn’t thinking. He was simply acting. The thick white trails left lines in the towels, far more than he usually came. Copious amounts, really. He wasn’t sure where he had stored all of it inside himself. And now, there was nowhere else to put it but on his towel. And so he did. He soaked it with his own cum, letting it grow heavy with his seed. He wiped down the glass, leaving little smears of semen here and there that he had missed and came back for. When he was sure that he had swept up as much as he did, he wrapped his towel around himself and took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to face his mother on the admittedly short path from the master bathroom through the master bedroom.
He turned the knob and stepped out of the bathroom.
His mother lay underneath the covers, tucked in like she’d never left. Her hair was all tied up into a loose bun on her head, just as it had been when she’d appeared in the bathroom like a ghost, and disappeared just as quickly. She had her reading glasses on, thick black frames with large, wide lenses that seemed to cover half her face, but somehow made it even prettier for doing so. He didn’t know what she was wearing underneath those covers, beyond the duvet. Jacob was not a betting man. He’d never bet money before, not ever. Not on sports, not on horses, not even on petty, random things like how his friends were always making bets. But if he was ever going to make a bet, if he was ever going to put money down on something, he’d bet that underneath those covers, his mother wore nothing except for a thin, thin pink shirt over her voluptuous chest and flat, slightly muscled stomach. And below that, over a pert, curvy ass that was more hard muscle than fat, would lay a set of lacy, racy panties. In black. But of course, he couldn’t be sure. She might not have even been in the bathroom five minutes ago. She probably wasn’t, and his stupid, animalistic, horny brain had conjured up a hologram of what he had been masturbating over.
He set his eyes on the sliver of light coming in through the far door, leading to the landing and freedom beyond, and strode out into the bedroom. He strode past her head, where she smiled up at him through those glasses, making her eyes shine much more than they usually did. Past where her body disappeared into the covers, all snuggled into the bed. Down to where one of her feet peeked out of the covers, slightly exposed. Its sole was facing away from the light. Alice had always taken care of her feet and hands, made sure to go to the spa and keep them soft and warm. She was always scared of looking too old, of looking her age really. So Jacob wasn’t shocked at their soft, pillowy little toes, or the gentle curve of the arch of her foot as it met the balls of her feet and flowed up to her ankle. No, what shocked him was the unmistakable glisten of fresh condensation beading on the soles of her feet. Water that could have only come from one place.
He quickened his pace and left.
—
As soon as Jacob left, Alice sat up. Her pink shirt clung to her with condensation and perspiration, sticking to her ribcage tightly and her back even tighter. The smell of musk, of sweat and sex and cum, was unmistakable in the air. Jacob had done something with the semen that he had displayed for her. What, she didn’t know yet. She had suspicions, however. Most likely he’d just wiped it all up with the towel, meaning he had run out of her room in a towel soaked in his own cum. A naughtier part of her imagined him scooping up that cum and rubbing it all over his young, muscular chest and abs, down towards his cock, lubing up his penis with his own semen as he masturbated thinking of her again.
Alice shook her head and stormed into the bathroom.
The glass wall that had once been covered in cum was now almost completely clean. Almost completely spotless. Almost. In plain light, it looked normal as can be, but when she looked at the pane at an angle, she could tell that the surface was sticky, not completely cleaned the way it was when she cleaned these very same shower walls. But clean enough to deter someone who did not know better. Perhaps Jacob was simply hoping that she wouldn’t notice, that maybe she had not seen him orgasm. But oh, so she had.
She thought about it as she sat down and finally, blissfully, peed. The stream left her body as she looked at the carnage of the shower, or what had been the shower. The only victims left of the crime were her dildo and a little shine on the glass wall. She’d have to wash that out soon, hope that Richard wouldn’t notice. She washed her hands and then headed to her dildo to pick it up, finally disposing of the evidence – not only of Jacob’s heinous crimes, but of hers as well, of what she had done with Will, the plumber from before.
She picked it up, then gasped.
There, on its tip, was a gob of cum. Untouched, uncleaned, unnoticed by Jacob, it sat, gleaming. Staring at her. It sat at the slit at the very very tip of the cock, almost as if the dildo had come instead of her son. It wasn’t that far of a stretch. His penis had looked very similar to this one, but somehow better. She wasn’t ready to admit it to anyone yet, not even to herself, just how much better it had looked. But it had looked better. Still, it was close enough to imagine that now, she held her son’s cock in her hand instead of a fake, room temperature, silicone cock that would not breathe or pulse or cum, would not fuck the back of her throat like she needed it, would not pound her pussy and ass until she screamed. Not that those things were things her son’s cock did, of course. Those were all Richard’s territory, Richard and his own magnificent cock. Yes, how magnificent that cock was, just so good, so delicious…
Leave a Reply