“I struggled, Jubal,” Mama resumed. “In silence, for so long. But then, at last, I found someone to confide in. Pastor Reeves.”
I didn’t know where this was going, but on a scale of one to ten my discomfort level was fast approaching eleven.
“It was Pastor Reeves who assured me my feelings were normal. The Lord gives us urges, Jubal, and he has provided us with the institution of marriage to deal with those urges. But I was married, and your father–my husband–was not doing his duty to satisfy my urges. I suffered. Ah, Jubal, for so long I suffered.”
Mama’s hand rested on my knee. It felt heavier than before.
“Pastor Reeves explained to me that in such cases the Lord offered a remedy. That when the husband… fell short, the Holy Spirit could take his place. Through his instrument. Pastor Reeves explained to me that, as a man of God, he could be the instrument of the Lord’s remedy for your father’s dereliction.”
“Mama, are you saying…?”
Mama put her fingers to my lips, silencing me.
“Yes, Jubal. In our meetings, Pastor Reeves fulfilled the Holy Duty that your father would not.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
“But God called Pastor Reeves away, to start his own church, far from here. And now I am left, once again, without the benefit of a husband who sees fit to do his sacred duty to his wife. A wife, I might say, Jubal, whom the Holy Spirit has blessed with a healthy and youthful desire to have her husband’s sacred duty done to her.” She squeezed my knee. “Do you understand my meaning?”
“I think I do, Mama.”
“You’ve grown into a fine, strapping young man, Jubal. Strong, and tall. How tall are you?”
“Six foot two, I reckon,” I said.
“An inch taller than your father.” She intertwined her fingers with mine. “And such fine, strong, big hands.”
Mama sat closer to me than ever, and I almost felt I could sense the heat rising off her body, which stretched her tight print dress in ways I had not noticed only a few minutes earlier.
“‘When the husband shall fail to do his duty to his wife, so shall the Lord provide a surrogate in his place.’ That’s what Pastor Reeves said to me, Jubal. He was my surrogate, but he’s gone. I have no one to stand in his place, to fulfill your father’s duty, except… you.”
“Me, mama?”
“Yes, Jubal. You.”
Her hand remained clasped with mine. With it she raised my hand off my lap, and pulled it toward her, and she set it on her breast.
I opened my mouth to speak, incredulous, but no words came out. My hand, guided by Mama’s, lay over the fullness and roundness of her breast. I felt the faint bump of her nipple under my fingers, shrouded by the fabric of her dress and an unseen brassiere.
“Jubal, you must step into the shoes of your father, and do his duty for him. I’m asking you. Please, Jubal. Your mother deserves this. She needs it.”
“But Papa… ”
“Papa will not be home for another six hours. He told me that he will have dinner with his friends after hunting, and he won’t be home until late.”
I didn’t move. I sat frozen in place, hand still cupping Mama’s ample bosom, not knowing what to do or say.
I didn’t know what to do, and Mama seemed concerned at my reserve.
“Am I… unattractive to you, my son?”
I shook my head.
“It’s not that, Mama,” I said. “You’re… you’re very pretty.”
“Do you mean that, or are you just trying to be nice to an old woman?”
“You’re not old, Mama. You’re only 38. And you’re hot–prettier than any of my friends’ mothers. They all tell me so.”
“Do they really?”
“Yeah, they do.”
I wasn’t lying about that. Mama kept herself in better shape than any of the other farmer’s wives in our community. My friends had remarked on this fact many times. In fact, they commented on it a heck of a lot more than Papa ever did. A compliment from Papa was a rare thing.
Mama put her hand over mine, still over her breast. She squeezed my hand, and I responded by squeezing her breast. It was bigger than Mary Anne Miller’s, with a maternal fullness and only a hint of sag. My thumb pressed over her nipple, and I pushed down on it. Mama sighed.
And then Mama did something that not two minutes earlier I could never have imagined her doing: she withdrew her hand from mine and she lay it in my lap, where my legs came together, and she squeezed me, under my blue jeans.
“Lord have mercy,” she said.
I didn’t think the Lord had much to do with it, to tell the truth, but I wasn’t going to contradict Mama, who took such things far more seriously than I did. All I knew was that her hand lay on my cock, which was hard and getting harder by the second.
“Mama, what -”
She interrupted me with a finger to my lips.
“No, Jubal. Don’t say anything. Not yet. Just follow me. Can you do that?”
I nodded. I didn’t know what else to do or say.
“Each of you must love his wife as he loves himself,” Mama murmured while looking at my lap. She looked up at my face. “Ephesians 5:33, Jubal.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Today you are my husband. The Lord wills it. We must submit to his will.”
I said nothing in reply. Mama seemed to take that as a “yes,” because her hands started working on the fly of my pants.
I could not say or do anything. I might have said a prayer for forgiveness to the Almighty, secretly, to myself, or I might not have. All I recall for certain is that my cock was steely hard and straining uncomfortably against the confines of my blue jeans, until Mama’s nimble fingers successfully navigated the buttons and my cock angled upwards with the sturdy quickness of a neighborhood barn-raising.
Mama’s eyes widened and glistened at the sight of my upright member, and she emitted an audible gust of air from her mouth.
“Oh, Jubal.”
I was aroused, but embarrassed. I had no words to express how I felt. But fortunately, I did not have to. Mama took matters into her own hands–literally. Her hand grasped and encircled the shaft of my cock. I felt it pulse under the touch of her fingers. Mama had slender, elegant hands, to my eye, but they were worn, too, after years of chores on the farm.
“You are every bit as much a man as your father,” she said. “More, even.”
Her hand slid slowly, down my length, until the side edge of her palm hit my pubic bone. My cock pointed to the ceiling, its head bulbous and purplish.
And then Mama did something that in my most feverish dreams I could never have imagined. She bent over at the waist, opened her mouth wide, and enclosed her lips over my cock head. I felt the moisture and pressure of her tongue. It swirled around the tip. A tremor swept through me.
Mama must have felt it, too, because she lifted off my upright penis and looked me in the face.
“Jubal, you must not come. Not yet.” The words said one thing, but her hand said another, as it stroked me, up and down, up and down.
“I don’t know–” I tried say, but I choked back the rest of the words as I concentrated on controlling myself. “I don’t know if I can control it, Mama.”
“You must, Jubal,” she said. “Do you know the sin of Onan?” That hand of hers kept stroking, stroking, stroking.
“I don’t recall the details, Mama,” I said, gasping.
“Genesis 38:9, Jubal,” she said. “You should not waste your seed on the ground. It is a sin. The husband–that’s you, now–must save his seed for his wife–that’s me, now. You understand?”
“I guess I understand, Mama. But the Bible says one thing, and my body says another. Do YOU understand?”
“I do,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Then there is only one thing we can do now.”
Mama sat upright on the bed. Her hands went to the buttons on her dress, below the one that already was undone. One by one, she undid all the rest of the buttons, from top to bottom, and when she was done, she pulled each flap of the pretty print dress away, until her body was revealed.
I drew in a big breath.
I had never seen Mama like this before. Her body was fully exposed, save for a skimpy white cotton bra and panties, and her skin was pale and supple before my eyes. Her torso and thin waste were revealed. It occurred to me that I could not recall ever having seen her belly button. On the few occasions I’d seen her swimming, she had worn a one-piece suit.
Mama kept peeling the dress off, lifting her bottom off the bed to finish the process, until she tossed the garment to the floor.
I saw a strange mix of desire and determination in Mama’s eyes, but uncertainty, and a trace of fear, too. She may have had a strong will, but she was no fool, and she must have known that there was no way to predict with certainty how her son would react to what she was doing.
With what appeared to be enormous effort, she said, “Undress me, Jubal.”
My hands must have moved with the will of the Holy Spirit, for I had no sense of control over them. I looked ahead, and my hands disappeared behind Mama’s torso. My fingers fumbled at the clasp of her bra, behind her, beyond my sight. From limited experience, I knew this was the most embarrassing test for a young man: unhooking a bra. I looked into Mama’s eyes while my fingers flailed at their task, and Mama looked back with what I thought was encouragement, a slight smile playing on her lips. After what seemed like an eternity, I felt the devilish thing come undone. Mama put a hand on my chest, and I pulled back. The bra now hung slackly on her chest, the edges of the cups just barely over her nipples. Mama’s hands went to the straps and pulled them off her shoulders, and at last, magically, unbelievably, beyond anything I could have imagined an hour earlier, the bra fell to Mama’s waist and her breasts lay exposed to my eyes.
I think I went slack-jawed. I’m sure I said nothing for at least a minute. Mama sat still in front of me, not moving, but the steady rhythm of her breathing caused her breasts to lift and fall before my eyes, and that was enough. My heart swelled with desire and my cock filled with blood. I was horny beyond anything I’d experienced before. Mama’s breasts were full and pale, and her nipples were pink and erect.
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