I aimed my cock like a spray-paint nozzle, I know a poor descriptor, as I tried to create a cum necklace. It wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty good if you ask me, as I shot four big wads onto her.
“Nice,” I admired my handiwork when done.
“Well, I’ve been asking for a pearl necklace for years from Derrick,” she said, “but he said they’re a white woman’s piece.”
“Well, I think this one looks very natural on you,” I said, as I got off the bed and grabbed my phone.
“I hope these are for your private collection,” she said, as I aimed my phone at her naked body.
“Of course,” I said, deciding I wanted to have at least one photo of each of my sluts.
“Please do keep them to yourself,” she requested.
“As long as you’re a good slut I will,” I agreed.
She smiled as she moved her nylon-clad foot to my cock, “I’m more of a bad girl.”
“That you are,” I agreed, as I got dressed.
“So do you want to come in my cunt before your Mom munches on my chocolate box?” she asked, her words sounding doubly nasty coming from a minister’s wife.
“I’d love to,” I said, “but I want Mom to be my first.”
“Aaaaaaah, how sweet,” she smiled, “you want to be a Mother fucker.”
“That I do,” I said.
“Well you could drill my ass again, then cum on my cunt and I’ll shove it in,” she offered.
“That I think would work,” I agreed, thinking it was a great idea.
“She usually comes over at 6:30, once you leave for debate club,” she said.
I did have debate club practice every Sunday night, but this week I would have to be late, as I was definitely going to give Mrs. Grady a unique creampie, that hopefully my Mother would dine on. “I’ll stop by before then.”
“Sounds great,” she nodded, as she got off the bed and walked to the mirror. “Fuck, this does look good.”
“Don’t wash off my cum until you go to bed tonight,” I said.
“You really are like your father,” she said, shaking her head.
“So I’m told,” I said, as I headed home.
Mom wasn’t home, she’d left a note that she got called into work… which happened on Saturday sometimes… she was a workaholic.
I showered and ended up playing Fortnight for a few hours, Mom not arriving home until after dinnertime.
When she did, she came directly to my room and asked, “Have you had dinner?”
“Not yet,” I answered.
“Want me to order pizza?’ she asked.
“Sure, I’d love some pie,” I hinted slyly.
“I’ll order some,” she said.
“You look tired,” I said.
“It was a long day,” she nodded, yawning.
“Well then, you probably need a foot massage,” I offered, wanting to touch those nylon feet again.
“I could use one every day,” she told me.
“Luckily, today is a day,” I joked, as I added, “why don’t you come lie down on my bed so you can order the pizza while I massage your feet?”
“Sounds good,” she agreed, as she collapsed on my bed.
I dropped out of my game even though I was only one of five left, and went to join her. I took her right foot (which was sleek and lovely in beige nylons) in my hand as she ordered the pizza.
“That feels nice,” she said a couple minutes later when she hung up.
We chatted about her day and mine, me leaving out my afternoon rendezvous, before I apologized, “Sorry about yesterday morning.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she dismissed it, “accidents happen.”
I lied, “You’re the first one ever to see my penis.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, girls my age don’t pay attention to me at all,” I explained, which was true.
“College will change that,” she said.
“I hope so,” I said. “I don’t want to be the real life Forty-year-old Virgin.”
“Can I be frankly honest with you?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said, “I hope you’ll always be,” as I massaged each toe individually.
“You’re very big,” she said.
“Big how?” I asked, playing dumb.
“Your penis is…” she paused, not sure how to say it, or perhaps even if she should say it, “… massive.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Well, I didn’t get an up close and personal look of course,” she said, “but it may be the biggest one I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?” I repeated, wanting to see how far she would take this conversation.
“Yes, honey,” she said, “and once women discover what you’re packing down there you will become quite popular.”
“So size matters?” I asked.
“Big time,” she nodded, and then laughed at her pun.
“Well, that may be true, but it’s not like anyone is looking under the hood,” I complained, using a lame car metaphor.
“I know high school is difficult, honey,” she said, “it was for me too.”
“It was?”
“Yes, I was quite a bit chunkier in high school,” she admitted.
“Really?” I asked, and thinking about it now, realizing I’d never seen any pictures of her during that time. I’d seen a single baby picture, and then only ones from her wedding and afterwards… plus the hot college ones with that Jenny girl.
“Yes,” she nodded, “but in college I came into my own.”
“Well, for me that’s almost a year away,” I sighed, moving to her other foot.
“The time will fly by,” she said.
“It’s actually going at a snail’s pace.”
“Well, trust me, college girls are less superficial,” she reassured me.
“Isn’t cock… I mean lust for penis size a bit superficial?” I asked, still not completely understanding women’s obsession with size… although since I preferred big tits over small ones, maybe it was just the natural mental concept of sexual beautification.
She nodded, giving a slight chuckle, “I guess so, but….”
“But what?” I asked when she stopped.
“This conversation is getting a bit weird for a mother and son,” she said.
“Would you rather I ask Dad?”
“God, no,” she laughed. “Okay, I’ll soldier on. The reality is that women are no different from men.”
“Meaning?”
“Men are usually pretty shallow, but so are we gals.”
“How so?”
“We’re attracted to looks just like guys are, and just like guys like big breasts, Latina butts or long legs, we like men with big penises,” she said.
“Does a big one feel better than a smaller one?” I asked.
“Wow! My son is asking me what kind of penis feels best in his mom’s vagina? This is getting weird,” she said, looking a little uncomfortable.
“If you don’t mind, Mom. I don’t really know who else to ask these things,” I replied innocently, not mentioning Ms. Chan.
“Well okay then, this is getting really personal, but… yes, I usually prefer a large one, ummm… in there,” she answered.
“Is it about length or girth?” I asked.
“Both.”
“Is one more important?”
“Different women would answer that differently.”
“How?”
“Well, for some, length is more important for the obvious reason of the depths it can reach, while others focus more on girth, as it gives a different pleasure sensation,” she explained, looking awkward telling me such intimate details. Nevertheless she added, “But all women would love to have both.”
“All women?” I asked, as I got off the bed.
“Well, almost all,” she corrected, glancing down at my crotch… and the tent in my pants… I had gone commando for just this effect.
“I can’t believe women are as bad as men.”
“It’s not a bad thing, it’s just human nature,” she said, just as the doorbell rang for the pizza delivery. “Plus, sex isn’t a bad thing, it too is human nature.”
“So it’s okay for me to have sex?” I asked.
She got off the bed, “As long as it’s with someone you care about.”
Deciding to drop one final hint, a less than subtle one, I replied, “But Mom, the only woman I care about is you.”
The doorbell rang again, and I said I’d go get it, leaving those words to linger in my Mom’s head.
The rest of the night we didn’t talk any more about sex… eating pizza and watching Mom’s favourite movie on TV, ‘A Few Good Men,’ the whole time I was thinking she only needed one good man… ME!
Sunday, October 28th: Day 7 of Project Mother Fucker
Sunday I went to church for the first time in months, and ended up getting a blow job in the minister’s office.
That afternoon I went and deposited a load in Ms. Chan’s coffee, as I hadn’t visited her for a couple of days. She offered that if I wanted to watch some lesbian sex, Mrs. Sinclair would be over that night around eight. I said I might stop by, but that I had debate practice first.
I also tutored Mrs. Walker’s son and chatted with her, but I didn’t make a move on her. Although I now had a lot of confidence putting the make on my Dad’s sluts, I still wasn’t sure about my ability with someone new. (Ms. Chan’s Muslim friend had been a special case, having been pretty much been handed to me on a platter.)