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Man Of The House

When a young man turns 18, his mom tells him about his new privileges.
Man Of The House

It was the day after my eighteenth birthday. I woke up with a pounding headache. Zack, Nedry, and I had gone out last night for an evening of partying and drinking. It didn’t matter that I was only 18 – if you say it’s your birthday, most bartenders will give you a free shot anyways. And if they didn’t, there was always someone else around willing to party.

    Ma was sitting at the kitchen table sipping a cup of coffee when I walked in. As usual, she looked  good. At age 41, she kept herself fit and well made up. I know half my buddies would bed her in a minute. She found their attentions amusing, and often flirted with them: chucking one under the chin, shushing another by placing a long sculpted fingernail against his lips, or even leaning over the counter so they would be sure to get a good view of her ample cleavage. But she was sexy is a good way, not a trampy over-done cliché. She was vice president of some bank downtown and always looked business-like. Today she had her hair up in a severe bun on the back of her head and was wearing a wrap dress with a skirt just long enough to be seen as work-casual. 

    I sniffed the air. “Something smells good,” I said. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down catercorner from her at the table.

    She reached across thee table and scooted a basket of muffins to me. “Fresh blueberry,” she told me. “I thought you might need something after your night out.”

    I took a muffin and nibbled it. “I didn’t wake you up when I came in, did I?’

    She flipped a hand at me. “No worries,” she said. 

    That was another thing I liked about my mom. Nothing ever seemed to phase her. I had seen her at work, with chaos drifting around her, remain serene and calm. She had actually been humming a tune to herself one time I visited on what others would have deemed a bad day. It amazed me how she could function when so many others melted down.

    She laid a hand on my wrist. “We need to talk,” she said, looking me straight in the eye.

    “Uh oh,” I groaned. I set the muffin aside. “That doesn’t sound good.”

    She let go of my wrist. “It’s nothing bad,” she said. “It’s just that, well, now you’re 18 and that means more responsibilities…”

    I groaned again. “Please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ve had ‘the talk’ already. I know about sex, Ma.”

    Her face flushed and she held up both hands, palms facing me. “I know that,” she said. “It’s just that, well, since your Dad isn’t around, you’re the man of the house.”

    I groaned yet again, inwardly this time. My Dad had gone out for beer and cigarettes one night when I was 13 and never came home. Two days later a process server had knocked on our door and presented my Ma with divorce papers. With no outward emotion, she signed them right then and there and pushed them back at the man. Since that moment I knew I was the man of the house.

    “And as man of the house, that means,” she continued. “You have rights to me.”

    I stopped chewing. My mouth hung open, dumbfounded. “What does that mean?” I asked.

    She shrugged her shoulders, and looked away, slightly embarrassed. “It means, you can have sex with me.”

    I gaped at her.

    “Only if you want to, of course. I’d never force it.”

    What the fuck? My mind exploded. I scraped back the chair and stood up shakily. I wobbled for a moment, unable to comprehend her words. She reached out a hand to steady me.

    I finally found my voice. “What?” was all I could say though.

    I couldn’t believe what was going on. My Ma was not lacking in male companionship. She had been dating Richard, an business executive, for months. I knew they had sex. I had come across them a time or two in the throes of passion. And before him, there had been Jon, the personal trainer. He practically lived at our house and I had endured at least a year of protein shakes and horrible exercise regimes under his scrutiny.

    She sighed. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But I feel like I am missing out. I am so unfulfilled with these men. They are all so staid and boring! I want someone with energy! With a little vigor and youth! I thought, well, why not you? You have to admit, we are not the typical mother-son team.”

    No, that’s one thing we definitely were not. I doted on my Ma. She was fun and mischievous. She had taken me to my first rock concert and had dressed up with me to go to my first science fiction convention. She was as much at home in my geek world as she was in the office. Plus she could drink pretty much all of my friends under the table.

    I didn’t say anything, just stared. 

    “Listen,” she blew out a breath of air. “Sorry I ever said anything. Say no, and I’ll never bring it up again. The last thing I want to do is ruin our relationship. I won’t let this come between us.”

    My mouth open and closed repeatedly. I wanted to say no, but my lips couldn’t form the word. For a long drawn out moment, I just stood there, looking at her. Finally she stood and faced me. Then she leaned in and kissed me fully on the lips. I blinked but did nothing to stop it. She kissed me again, this time allowing her tongue to enter my mouth. It probed lazily.

    That was it. I melted. My arms came up around her body, held her close, and I leaned into her, pushing her backwards a step. She smiled against my mouth and I sucked at her tongue. Then she moaned. The vibrations zinged through me and my hands came up her back. I undid the bun in her hair and it fell down to obscure her face. I broke the kiss and she looked up at me, her eyes shining. She licked her plump lips and stepped out of our embrace.

    I watched numbly as she undid the tie on her side that held her dress closed. It fell open, exposing her flat belly and large breasts. She wore a lace shelf bra, so her nipple were exposed. They harden to points in the coolness of the room. She took my one of my hands and placed it on one breast. I squeezed. It was plump and firm, barely sagging at all with age. Damn, my Ma was hot and she was looking at me all coquettishly and sexy.

    She reached for my belt and undid the buckle. I placed my hands on her shoulders and kissed her again. This time my tongue was the assaulter. It thrust into her mouth and swam there. Her hands bumped against my crotch as she undid my snap and zipper. Without pushing my jeans down, she reached I and withdrew my cock, bringing it up and over the elastic of my boxer briefs. She stroked it with one hand as she returned my kiss, then sank to her knees.

    There in the dining room, my Ma sucked my cock into her mouth. My head went back and I rested a hand on the top of her head, not pushing myself into her, but as a type of benediction. It seemed a solemn occasion, one worthy of veneration. And her body was worth worshiping. She kept her eyes downcast, also adding to the reverential feeling of the moment. 

    My cock inflated in her mouth. She sucked and licked, running her tongue up one side and back down the other. She used her hands to fondle my balls and squeeze them ever so lightly. Later, after swallowing my cock down her throat, she ran her finger up my perineum and between my ass cheeks. She pressed one finger against the puckered hole there and I jumped. Her finger kept pressing insistently and then she pushed into me. 

    I came. 

    Lord knows I didn’t want to at that moment, but the sensations were overwhelming; her throat hummed against my cock, her finger pressing into my most intimate areas, her face smashed in my crotch. I felt her throat convulse as she swallowed my seed, and she took time to clean me off with her tongue before she stood up, kissing her way up my body

    I kicked off my jeans as I pushed our plates back to the end of the table. I lifted her to sit on the edge. With her legs dangling, I pushed the her dress off her shoulders. It was my turn to kneel down before her. I suddenly felt very powerful, having this strong, virile woman open and wet for me. She opened her legs wide, placing one on each corner of the table. I moved one finger up and down her slit, making her mewl. Then my mouth was on her and she sighed lusciously. I moved my fingers agilely, still sucking on her pussy, while thrumming her clit with a finger. Her nerve endings sang and she leaned back on her arms, allowing me more access. 

    “Delicious,” I said, “Better than any meal I could ever have.”

    My mouth was now on her clit and I sucked it hard. The finger that had been there was now inside her, pounding at her. I added another, sliding them in and out at a fierce pace, Her breath was coming in short pants, meeting my rhythm. A third finger entered her and she loved the stretch she felt. Her skin felt like it was on the point of tearing, but the pain just supplemented the pleasure racing throughout her. She yelped, and grabbed my head, holding it to her. Her body was shuddering as she bucked against me. With a sharp cry, she clutched me tightly and came, wetting my face with her juices.

    I stood, licking my lips with my tongue and leaned to kiss her. “Do you taste yourself?” I asked, wickedly. She sat up more straight and reached for my cock, but I turned his hips away from her. “No,” I said. She grabbed at it anyways and held it in both hands, stroking it firmly and at a steady pace –  not extremely fast, but consistently. We looked each other in the eye hotly, our gazes speaking lust and yearnings.

    Then I was pushing her back flat against the table and taking her legs to wrap around my waist. The table put her at the perfect height and I was able to tease my cock against her labia before pushing into her. She gripped my with her pussy, holding me in when I might want to pull out. In mere seconds I was filling her, not only with my cock, but with his cum. I pushed against her in short sharp bumps, driving my semen into her, and holding myself there to keep as much I could inside of her. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

    I leaned over her and she hung her arms around my neck. She kissed me repeatedly as I stayed with my dripping cock still embedded in her. Slowly it slipped out, and she raised her feet to plant on the table so she could tilt her hips up. I grabbed her hips and pulled her down and off the table, grabbing one tit and tweaking it. I nuzzled between her breasts with my nose. I don’t remember if I had breast fed as a child, but it seemed such a soft and secure place. She soothed my hair and whispered in my ear. I don’t think there were any real words, just reassuring noises.

    Now I maintain my position as man of the house. She entertains no others n her bed, although she does allow me some dalliances to keep appearances with my friends. If she has a work function, she appears with some colleague or another, but always returns home alone to our bed. She is adventurous with sex, well versed in and never afraid to try something new. We’re the perfect combination. Mother and son and master and mistress of the house. She never has to worry about me. She knows I’ll always return to her where I am most comfortable and she always has me to rely on.

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