Sharing Mommy

As students flowed from the main doors of Merrimont High at the end of the school week, my heartbeat refused to slow. Every pair of eyes seemed to glance at the minivan. Laughter echoed much louder than it should. Smirks or wider grins cut deep. Both hands were so tight on the steering wheel that my arms shook.

When a shadow appeared at the passenger side window, I jumped. No, that smile was just my son. A shaky sigh left me as the door opened, letting Barry’s slender form slide inside.

“Hey, Mom,” he mumbled in that teen mumble.

At my silence, he sighed and pulled the door shut. A thud announced the large “Spaceman Jimmy” backpack landing between white high-top sneakers. Even as he tugged the seatbelt over slim blue jeans and a billowy gray shirt, I got the vehicle rolling. He twisted and started to reach for me, but my exhale made him freeze.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

With the response rehearsed all afternoon, I only peeled a hand from the wheel to slide my phone across the center console. He lifted it, then gasped while reading the texts.

“I didn’t realize,” he muttered. “They were…. Well, it was Cullen.”

“Mmm-hmm.” I came close to glaring at him but settled for a quick peek; him, then the phone. “It’s getting worse.”

“Think Dad knows?”

“Not yet. At least he hasn’t said anything, but this…” I again looked at the device still in his hands. “Seems your friends—”

“They’re not my friends, Mom. Cullen’s an asshole. Told you that.”

Anger seethed, and heat flared up both cheeks as, “He seems to know a lot,” hissed through clenched teeth.

“He wasn’t supposed… He promised,” my son mumbled.

“Seriously? And you believed him? An asshole?”

His turn to stay quiet as we weaved around school buses and cars waiting to pick up students. He was young, too young. Gullible, like his father. Made him sort of endearing.

“So, what now?” I muttered.

“Um, you look nice.”

A glance caught his gaze wandering the thin yellow and white sundress. After lingering on the valley hugging a small golden cross dangling from my necklace, he tossed me that hopeful grin.

“Really?” A curt sigh left me. “The whole school knows, and that’s what you’re thinking about?”

“You wore makeup.”

“I always—”

The landing of a skinny hand on my thigh shut me up. His other placed the phone back in my purse. Damn it, those soft, brown puppy-dog eyes. Slender fingers gave me a squeeze, and shame-driven fires roared to life.

“Not at home,” I mumbled. “Salister Park.”

“Okay, Mom.”

As we left the parking lot, his digits roamed a little higher, and the world began blurring. More heat bloomed, and I snuck another glance.

His smile was waiting.

“You look really pretty,” he said.

My gaze dropped to his jeans. Guess what else was waiting? Yep, a good-sized, steady throb.

Heart thumping, I tore my eyes away. My lashes blinked, then blinked again, as if to somehow remove the image already seared into my awful mind.

“Um, nothing messy,” I muttered, trying to focus on driving.

“Alright.”

His hand moved further, and sinful legs widened. As we made our way across town, my brain whirled with memories.

Had it only been a few months ago? Should never have stopped by the bathroom door. It’d been open. He’d been in the shower. No longer boyish, yet still lean, his physique, shrouded in wispy steam, twisting and turning under the spray. Hadn’t meant to linger, but… loneliness can do mortal damage to one’s resolve. I’d been so weak…so foolish…so needy.

Those fingers slid higher on my leg, crumpling the hem, and a lump formed in my throat. My glance at the mirror caught his grin. A quick peek showed those jeans were straining even more.

“Uh, take it out, baby, if you want.”

Fueled by teen hormones, my boy could move with purpose, that’s for sure. While the one hand stayed on me, the other tore at his zipper until a ruddy mast wobbled proud. The shine of taut skin. A perfect curve of tumescent male glory made the canal that had birthed him twitch with yearning. Such fullness. Its powerful throb as he watched my tongue sweeping lips already alive with tingles, already tracing the fine spiderweb of veins. Lord forgive me, this sinner’s mouth was watering.

Not the only thing watering. Tentative fingers moved further up my thigh, finding dampness. His turn to gulp. A gentle press of his palm made the blurry world pulse. My foot shook on the pedal.

“Stop it, sweetie. Lemme get there first.”

“Er, sorry.”

His hand began to move, but mine shot out to clasp the slender wrist. Those pretty eyes flashed. With both wickedness and need ablaze, I grinned at him.

“It’s fine. Just don’t, um, rub, okay?”

“Sure, Mom.”

The hand returned to the patch of searing heat it’d left on my thigh. My palm slapped onto the wheel. A snowy white pump shoved the accelerator, and we roared further toward the latest knot in our Gommoran existence.

Again, memories tumbled. The shower, my hands, gentle and measured, helping my poor boy, the iron-hard dick spurting so much seed. Such a waste. His groans as an enraptured mother sank to her knees, seeking youthful saltiness. Jesus witnessed us while a laughing boy tugged sticky strands from my curls. Barry, following me to bed. My halfhearted protests. An agreement, and he’d behaved. He must ask, and I will decide.

Grin on my face and moaning like a harlot, I’d ridden his lean frame while my adoring son had smiled up at me, sealing the wickedest of pacts. Given an absent husband and father, busy with the next inane deal, our illicit time together had become quite the enjoyable distraction.

But those first texts had appeared. The sender was anonymous and beggared any attempt to trace. Punishment from heaven.

Barry had cried, apologized, then cried some more. I’d become fury incarnate as shame’s sharp claws tore at my soul. He hadn’t meant to… well, our dynamic had changed. Now this: more furtive messages plus a photo. That picture had been only for my son, not the entirety of Merrimont.

A whimper pulled my focus back to the street. Another had me peeking over at Barry. Sleek ruddy tautness in his fist and eyes closed. The glittering trickle from that foreskin-snuggled dome made me gulp. My tongue swished, already enjoying the sweet saltiness, the pungent flavor of virile youth.

“Almost there, honey,” I murmured.

Under the dress, his hand rubbed, breaking the rule, and I gave his arm a swat. He yipped, and those eyes reappeared. Their brown irises glowed.

“Sorry, Mom.” He sent me a nervous smile. “You’re just so soft and warm.”

“Uh-huh. Behave. Rules, remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We stopped at a red light, and the sigh of sighs escaped my lips. He’d covered the dripping temptation with an arm while trying to appear calm. Yet, his face was flushed, and long lashes were blinking far too fast. Though loose on his skinny frame, the shirt was thumping.

Such need in that boy. He should’ve found a girl by now. Like his dad, way too smart. Chess club. Science club. Good-looking, too, if I say so myself. At school, he wore contacts, leaving the thick glasses at home.

A honk from behind snapped me back to the road. The light was green, and the pedal mashed beneath my foot. As we raced further, he did it again, pressing against soaked cotton. That time, I let the world wobble. His caresses were so very wrong, yet felt so impossibly right. There’s a song about that, I think.

When the park entrance loomed, his other hand appeared. As small fingers undid the cute little flower buttons below the dangling cross, I kept swallowing emptiness. His eyes gleamed at me as he eased the dress open.

“No, not messy,” I murmured.

“Aww, please, Mommy.”

Oh, fudge! Both the whine in his voice and his calling me “Mommy” struck so many confused wires. All of them sizzled as I struggled to find our favorite parking area.

Far from the ball fields and secluded by tall willows, offering deep shadows, the minivan pulled to a halt. While he scanned one way, my gaze swept the other. Nobody was around; we’d learned our lesson on earlier visits. My pulse refused to slow, and his breathing was rapid. The hand on my leg began to shake.

“How pretty?” I asked.

“V-very pretty. Gorgeous! Leah Poole, supermodel!”

“A little thick, sweetie.”

With a chuckle, I glanced at him. Eyes pleading. Thin chest heaving. Leaky manhood shimmering in a shaky fist.

“Back seat,” I said.

Ah, youth. Did he zip himself from sight before moving? Nope, penis still proud and jiggling, my boy was all motion. With a quiet laugh, I left the front and walked to the rear door. By the time it slid open, his jeans lay in a clump, and the shirt was dragging over his head.

My pulse raced a little quicker. Gone was any sign of the lanky awkwardness he’d gained from his father. All sleek muscle, borderline pallid with even paler skin across a lean pelvis, the boy on the far side of the bench seat was on a mission. The crimson scepter bobbing amid fine chestnut curls between his thighs reinforced that thought. His eyes sparkled as the shirt flew away, and he spun to face me.

While undoing the rest of the buttons down the front of the dress, I climbed inside. Lord help me, perhaps this sinful woman clasped the same mission?

His groan filled the interior as the door thumped shut behind me and the sundress dropped. When my hands reached for the clasp at the center of my back, his eyes became saucers. He shifted, reclining, widening skinny legs, and tilting that angry rod upward. The snick of the bra parting made him flinch, and as both triangles fell into my palms, he gulped.

“So, what part of me is most beautiful?” I whispered, tossing the brassiere onto my dress.

“Um, well, you have the nicest hair. Sp-spun gold.”

“Got a thing for blondes, huh?”

With the poor boy’s hormone-addled mind melting, he could only nod. His breathing hitched as my fingers swept down both flanks. Although my nails traced the taut waistband of the panties, we didn’t have much time.

“Keep talking, silver-tongued devil,” I added in a lower, huskier tone.

“Oh, uh, your eyes. The deepest brown.”

“Same as yours.”

“Um, yeah, but way prettier.”

So adorable. Each answer had been spat as he ripped his gaze from my chest. Yep, just like his dad.

The world slowed as I leaned forward to crawl closer. When both angry nipples raked his thighs, electricity raced across every nerve. My breathing grew quicker, so did his. We both groaned as that swollen knob smeared wet heat along my belly; my ascent only stopped once both heavy globes dangled above his mouth. His eyes flared up at me. His lips widened. A prod of his tongue on a furious nipple made the universe twinkle.

“You are really, really beautiful, Mom,” he murmured, bathing the breast in the most delicious puffs of heat.

Before my shaky mind could muster a reply, he surged, and those soft lips latched. He sucked, and that delightful tongue became a velvet brush, sweeping more electric jolts free to wander my body. Despite such a primal connection, any motherly instinct vaporized amid a flood of rising bliss. The moan of a wanton whore tore from me. With my baby boy suckling, I crumpled; soaked panties mashed the searing hardness between us.

Soon, I was squirming, and his irises grew ever so wide. His body began to tremble. Right, youthful. With a grin, I tugged my boob from his lips and slid lower. When the angry rod came into view, peeking between both globes, he gulped. The swiftest jab of my tongue, poking the taut dome, made the crimson pole jerk and gained me the cutest groan.

With my gaze back on him, I gripped both breasts. As they pressed along the heated, slick shaft, its trembling owner’s eyes became so needy, so soft. Slow glides got his lashes to flutter. Slim lips trembled, then shook faster when I added gentle licks of his belly.

“Oh, wow. Mmm, um, Mom, I’m kinda… You said, uh, not messy.”

Just in time, I bent far enough to settle my mouth over his tip. He grunted, and thick saltiness splashed over my tongue. More wondrous surges followed, accompanied by his low, shaky groans. My outstretched fingers caressed his heaving ribs as my lovely son fed me his seed. Each gulp echoed as if bells in high steeples tolled. Sinful, yummy, wicked, so tasty, shame, so virile.

At last, he ceased and lay silent on the seat. His hands gripped my shoulders, helping me to rise. While licking my lips and swallowing the last of the delicious gift, I leaned back against the cushioned backrest, trapping his leg. He offered no complaint. His hand found my forearm, drawing my fingers to softening heat.

With me caressing him, he sent the most adorable sighs into the heated air. My lashes closed, and I reclined further. Belly full of gooey warmth, a grin slid onto my face. My other fingertips wandered to the damp cotton between my thighs but only pressed. Even so, a whimper tore from me, and he reacted with a gasp.

“No,” I mumbled, hoping to end any foolish thoughts.

“Okay, Mom.”

Darn, it’d worked. With a louder exhale, I took the fingers from the soaked panties and pushed hair behind my ear. When my head rolled and eyes opened, his smile was waiting.

“Your father will be home soon.”

“How was his trip?”

“No idea. He doesn’t tell me anymore.”

“Meh, probably another failure.”

“You don’t know that,” I said with enough force to make him shiver.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just that—”

“He tries. We’ve got a decent roof over our heads and food on the table.”

“Mm-hmm, we do.”

Silence stretched. One more sign of youth: he was hardening again. His fingers were caressing my arm as I gave him gentle squeezes. Yet, despite the arousal surging within us both, my mind focused.

“How did the photo get out, Barry?” My hand tightened on the slippery foreskin. “I sent it only to you.”

“Erm, I don’t—”

A harder squeeze made him moan, cutting off the lie in his voice. He huffed, then groaned as my grip eased that silken sheath back-and-forth.

“I showed Cullen. He wanted a copy. Said you—”

“That I could be a supermodel?”

“Mmm-hmm. So, um, well….”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Uh, no. Not exactly.”

Yes, that should’ve been a clue. But my baby was perfect, and with his manhood once more stiff, I opened my eyes and played peek-a-boo with that satiny foreskin. So much fun; I actually let a giggle escape. Tugged the silken sheath upward until only the very tip of his rod was visible. The taut dome became so dark, and the motion netted me a shiny globule. Dragged the sleek skin lower; the droplet swayed free to drape my wrist, and he moaned. His chest arched, letting the paleness over every rib glisten as he shuddered.

Soon enough, my hand was slick with effluence, and the sounds from him were deeper and quicker. The fluttering of his lashes declared that the gates of nirvana drew close.

It was time. Beyond time, to be honest.

“We can’t keep doing this, sweetie,” I said.

Arched from the seat, he froze in midair. His chin trembled. His glance flicked between my fist, also frozen, and my stoic visage. With heat both flooding my cheeks and roaming deep within, the stony expression required a lot of focus.

“Um, w-what do you mean?”

“You should have a girlfriend. I’m your mother, Barry.”

“But—”

“No, listen. It’s too risky. The entire school knows. How long before a teacher catches on? Or a parent? What we’re doing is illegal. Immoral. Against all the—”

His groan shut me up, and a quick glance showed my fist was again moving. That damning motion pierced deep. Softer and wider, his eyes were waiting when I found them.

“You can’t keep telling people, darling,” I mumbled as resolve sluiced away like ice sheets in a warming sea.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I mean it. One more slip and this ends. Your father…. Well, he won’t understand.”

“Okay, I promise. No more slips.”

His gaze dropped. My sinful hand had added slow twists. The thunder in my chest quickened. Leather squeaked as I moved. The world blurred, then tilted until heated slickness sank between my lips. At that angle, he kept on sliding into my throat. Two quick strokes had him groaning while more salty goodness pulsed into my belly.

Afterward, I replaced the bra. Only when my shaky hands started to close the dress did realization strike. He hadn’t moved.

“What’s the matter?” I said, tugging on the flowered halves to cover myself.

“Um, well”—he bent to fish a slip of paper from his jeans—“this is for you.”

“Huh, what is it?”

When I leaned to take it from him, the flowery material fell open again to frame my torso. Air hissed from my infatuated son, his eyes locked on the swaying bra. Although flashing him a grin, it faded when I unfolded the sheet and the first words appeared. The universe flicked between profound sharpness and a hazy blur swaddled in red. A whole lot more heat inundated my face.

“What is this, Barry George Poole?”

“A chaperone slip. Um, Mrs. Henderson is taking us to the Crawfield Historical Center in Benton City next week.”

“I can see that. Why is my name on it?”

“Uh, well, I sorta volunteered you.”

“Why?”

“So we could spend more time together.”

“Spend more—”

My voice ended in an exasperated gasp, and I reclined in the seat, leaving cotton-clad curves bared to heaven. Lost in seething fury and confusion, my mind refused to form a response. Beside me, the cushion squeaked, and my fists tightened.

“Put that pretty cock away before it gets hard again.”

His curt exhale came close to making me giggle. Just because his mother never used such words didn’t mean they weren’t known to me. Hell, my pussy was both flooded and on fire. With angry nipples stiff against the damn bra, my tits ached, and my ass refused to stop trembling.

“Yes, ma’am.”

His quiet voice cut through the rising madness. More squeaking echoed as my aggravating, annoying, handsome boy got dressed, hiding all those lean, youthful muscles.

With my husband Adam unpacking, the rest of Friday night was a blur. Get him and our sullen son fed, then clean the dishes as they nerded-out over something in the home office. Their laughter did worm its way into my heart, and a happy woman placed the last plate in the dish rack while wearing the happy grin of a happy homemaker.

Later, I sat in a chair by the pool. A large glass of delightful rosé made me even happier and had me tingling. The evening air carried a lingering winter chill, but also brought the scent of flowers from the earliest blooms.

The quiet squeak of one of the sliders opening caused my muscles to tense, but slow, shuffling footfalls made me smile. When Adam came into view, he sent me a matching grin.

“Hey there.” He bent to give me a swift kiss. “Found you, beautiful.”

“You boys seemed busy.”

With a lengthy sigh, he settled into the neighboring chair. In one hand, a beer bottle glittered, while fingers of the other raked through black hair, growing wispier by the day. He gave the backyard a quick scan before facing me.

“Just work stuff. Barry’s really catching on,” he said. “Smart kid you made.”

“Uh, you were there as well.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“How was the—”

His gaze drifted to the distant trees. “Doubt I’ll get the funding. Bunch of…. Nah, simply didn’t ‘wow’ ‘em, I guess.”

The digits in his hair slowed as he took a sip. A long sigh left him, and he turned to me once more. “God—”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Adam.”