Mother & son look to fill the missing pieces in their lives.
Enjoy..
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It’s Another Friday
“Brandon, you’ve got this, honey. Okay? See you this afternoon.” Ann gave her son Brandon a quick peck on the cheek, causing him to look to be sure no other kids from school saw his mother kissing him and he got out of the car. Ann shivered as the gust of cold winter wind from his departure lingered in the car. She felt the familiar mix of love, worry, and faint wish that she didn’t have to drive him every morning. At 18 years old, Brandon was more than old enough for a driver’s license or to ride the bus by himself, but Ann’s meager salary wouldn’t accommodate a second car and well, the bus was not an option with Brandon’s… issues. She steered the car back to their small house, feeling a little anticipation for her only day at home alone as she was off from her job at the grocery store Fridays and Saturdays. Every Friday she indulged herself with a little ‘self care’, as she referred to it in her mind.
Brandon headed into school, his head down and his hands in his pockets against the cold as he navigated towards the “special classrooms” at the school, trying to avoid attention and potential ridicule. He could feel himself start to sweat with nervousness, a trait he inherited from his mother that worsened considerably after the death of his father 8 years earlier. He still relived, vividly, his first torturous encounter with his condition years earlier.
It was the first day of school, and the teacher suggested they go around the room and introduce themselves to one another. As each child spoke and Brandon’s turn got closer, he felt a rising panic in his chest. The idea of everyone’s attention focused on him was distressing and turning into a full blown panic. Two kids away from him, it overwhelmed him, and he jumped out of his chair, mumbling that he had to go the bathroom. Fight or flight had taken over and flight won as he rushed out of the room in a desperate escape. After he somewhat collected himself, he forced himself to go back to class and sit down, the pressure relieved slightly. The teacher called on him for the introduction and he opened his mouth to speak his name, the words coming out in a trembling voice. Where did that come from? He wanted to die as his voice warbled and sounded like he might start crying. He hated himself at that moment.
Brandon was eventually diagnosed with a severe anxiety disorder, to the point where he couldn’t function in normal classrooms full of sometimes cruel children. Any situation where attention was focused on him caused severe shut down. He had no close friends, he was held back a year, not because of any defect in his intelligence, just from figuring out a curriculum that would work with his limitations. Hell, he couldn’t even order from the waitress on the rare times he would go out to eat with his mother. She had to order for him. His mother was his Godsend. His only close friend, his care giver, his beacon to get him through the hell of his life. Brandon shuffled into his special classroom and started his struggle with his day.
Back home, Ann prepared for her “self care”. She pulled her realistic squirting dildo out of its hiding place in her bedroom and put it on the nightstand, then stripped down to her panties, freeing her pendulous breasts as she avoided looking in the mirror at her body she was so insecure about. In truth, her clothes made her look much heavier than she actually was. At 39 years old, she still had a bit of an hourglass figure with a belly and a little cellulite on the back of her thighs. She padded into the kitchen and started her concoction for her squirting dildo. She mixed milk, a cornstarch slurry, a touch of yogurt and a dash of salt in a saucepan on the stove until it thickened. She had tweaked the recipe until she could get as close to actual semen as she could manage, although it lacked the unique texture, flavor and viscosity of the real stuff.
Ann’s cum fetish was not something she was proud of and stemmed from her insecurities about her figure. She and her husband, before his death, had a good sex life. After the birth of their son, when Ann’s figure wasn’t the same, her breasts droopier, her belly fuller, her ass larger, she started to avoid being naked in front of her husband, fearing he wouldn’t find her attractive. When they had sex, all she thought about was him not finding her sexy until he demonstrated his attraction to her by reaching climax. Semen became proof of his love and her desirability. She knew it wasn’t healthy as her brain became rewired to crave the end result of the act more than the intimacy and pleasure of sex itself. In her mind, semen was love.
When the mixture was warm, she put the saucepan on a hot pad on her nightstand so it stayed warm. She lay on her back and thought about her husband’s cock. She ran her hands over her thighs as she pictured his hard length in her hands as she explored, worshipping it. The pre-cum that signaled his arousal beaded out of his slit and in her mind’s eye she eagerly smeared the slick fluid around the cock head, then sucked on her fingers, tasting the salty sweet deliciousness of his heat for her.
She rubbed her fingers lightly over the crotch of her cotton panties, feeling already the dampness of her arousal. Her fingers traced over the texture of her thick blush of pubic hair under the thin material, a few strands not constrained by the elastic. She pressed harder against her cleft, moaning as she found her bud and massaged it. As she stroked herself through her panties, she grabbed her dildo, dipping the tip into the saucepan containing her thick white mixture and started greedily licking the head, moaning as she imagined taking her husband’s cock into her mouth. The taste wasn’t quite right, but it served its purpose, her arousal spiking.
She continued to lick and suck on the dildo, her finger slipping into her panties, finding the hot wet mess of her fluids leaking out of her large inner labia. She gently tugged on her nether lips, then smeared her slickness up to her clit, running circles around it with her fingers. The young widow fantasized about her husband laying on her in a sixty-nine position, licking and playing with her pussy. She sucked on her dildo as she plunged her fingers into her sopping sex. The odor of her arousal permeated the room as the wet sound of her fingers working her cunt were loud in the quiet room. She moved one slick finger down to the light ring of hair that surrounded her asshole and traced her juices lightly over the sensitive wrinkles of her sphincter, imaging her husband getting bold enough to play with her ass with his tongue.
Ann continued to finger herself, achieving an orgasm that made her legs shake as the moans of her climax were muffled from the fake cock in her mouth. She lay there panting softly as she recovered, her panties soaked. She removed them, lifting her large round buttocks up off the bed as she slid them off and brought the dildo down to her pussy, her mons and lips covered in curly black hairs, as she worked the head of the dildo inside of her. She fucked herself hard and fast with it and as she got close to release again, paused to fill a syringe on her nightstand with the warm fake cum in the saucepan. She imagined her husband grunting as they came together, her one hand pressing the syringe plunger down to fill her cunt with the warm fake semen as she climaxed. Still riding her orgasm, she removed the dildo and stuck her fingers into the sopping mess of her pussy, white fluid leaking out of her cunt lips. She brought her fingers to her mouth, sucking the mixture of fluids off them, the salty tang spreading a feeling of love that started in her mind and spread over her body.