Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Mom stood in front of the class, removing her trench-coat, scarlet-faced, as she wore the grass skirt and coconut bra per Mr. Wilson’s demand yesterday.
“Alright, class,” Mr. Wilson called out, “You’re probably wondering why your glass of water of a teacher is wearing such provocative attire. Fret not. For you see, through no fault of your own, I’ve been noticing a lackluster performance in this class. So to boost morale, she’s going to give you a treat. She will perform a belly dance as I ask a few questions that’ll be on your next test. There’s a prize per each correct answer.” This is bullshit. What kind of principal is this? This is how you improve on productivity? I hope you burn in hell for this, you son of a bitch.
He plays some music and points to mom who begins her dance, still red in the face, but trying her damnedest to hold herself together.
“First question,” he says, reading a cue card, “What is density?” Everyone’s hands rocket in the air except mine. “Hmm, Saints,” he called out, pointing to me. I don’t say a word. “Okay, someone who knows,” he scans the room, “Willis.”
“Mass over volume,” a student answered.
“Correct,” Mr. Wilson stated, calling him over. He blindfolds the student and turns him toward mom, gently shoving him. The student extends his arms, walking towards mom and stops when he grabs a hold of her stomach. Before he gets any more ideas, Mr. Wilson says.
“Alright, that’s enough. One touch per student. Save some fun for everyone.” And that was the whole class period. Watching horny teens molesting my mom was torture. I don’t even care that the class thought I was dumb. I hate it here. May couldn’t get here quicker.
Mr. Wilson is a huge, power hungry, fuck nugget. He just started working at the school a few months ago because our old principal was involved in a car accident. God rest his soul. He wasn’t the best principal, but he showed that he’d sell his soul for this school. Mr Wilson: not so much. He shows favoritism with female employees and students, gropes them whenever he can, and is even known to blackmail them into sleeping with him to keep their jobs or maintain their good grades. Unfortunately, his mind is just so sick and twisted that that’s letting them off easy.
My mother is the latest example of this. Not only with the show that he’d made her perform, but he docked her pay and lowered my grade when she initially refused. What’s even worse is that the performance in the class wasn’t bad at all. Sure there were a select few that had their grades below hell, but the rest of us got our shit done. But in order to fulfill his desires, he gradually lowered everyone’s grades over the months. Some of us won’t pass the class because of this. Even worse, colleges will laugh at some of them after one look at their transcripts and seeing that they nearly failed such a basic science class. It’s fucking stupid.
When the school day’s over, I go directly to mom’s class and console her while she sits at her desk and cries. This puts so much stress on her because her job and my graduation is on the line. I help her to collect her things while trying to joke with her to at least shed a glimmer of light. That is until Mr. Wilson shows up.
“Woo-wee!” he started, “That was some hot dancing, Saints. You’ll have to tell me where you learned such a dance.” Mom glares at him with tears in her eyes. “Anyway, you,” he says pointing at me, “What good is a class if you’re not gonna learn from it? You didn’t know a single answer.”
“I didn’t wanna show off in front of the class,” I responded sarcastically.
“While I do appreciate your consideration,” he retorts, “It’s still no excuse for not answering your principal when he calls on you. Now, the next time morale is low, I’m going to have to step in again. And I need everyone to cooperate. Everybody needs to pull their weight to get the ship moving. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“‘Yes’ what?” he asked sternly.
“Yes, sir,” I say, coldly.
“Good,” he said, pleased. “As you were.” After he steps out of the classroom, I flip him off.
When we get home, mom immediately goes into her room and cries. I’m just too pissed to do anything. I pace around in the living room to figure out what we can do to get out of this mess. I then spot a portrait of us with dad. I pick it up and sit on the couch.
‘Please tell me what I can do,’ I mentally ask dad. I still can’t believe he’s gone. He was a cop who was a victim of a suicide bomber. But instead of a funeral to honor him, the whole department celebrated. They kinda hated him because of the life that he had and by extension, us. So putting this sack of shit behind bars was out of the question.
I then hear a thud coming from mom’s room. I rush up the stairs and to their door to investigate. I open the door to see my mom next to her bed, holding a wine bottle. She’s developed a bit of a drinking habit. I go over to her and pick her up to put her bursa escort on her bed. She giggles as the wine is taking effect and I take the bottle out of her hand.
“Hey,” mom said in her drunken state, “I bought that fair and square. Gimme.” She extends her arms and squeezes her hands. I sigh and say.
“Mom, how much of this did you drink?” She thinks about it, counting on her fingers and says, “Just a bit.”
“Well, you’re dealing with that ‘just a bit’,” I respond, “I don’t want you to get sick, ok?”
“Alright, alright,” mom said, rubbing her eyes and head, “When you’re right, you’re right. You’re such a good boy.” She hugs me and I hug her back.
“Hold me,” she said. Slightly reluctant, I chalked it down to her wanting a hug from someone who cared about her most in the world. I lay down in the bed and she climbed on top of me. I embrace her, rubbing my hand up and down her back and she lies her head on my chest, eventually getting up and throwing up in the bathroom while I hold her hair back. After two minutes of ferocious vomiting, she cleans herself up and lays down in bed, falling asleep. I tuck her in and kiss her forehead.
Next week approaches and surprise surprise, the morale is better and here comes Mr. Wilson, sarcastically clapping.
“Well, well, well,” he starts, “What do we have here? Some smart cookies who are reaching their potential because of a little motivation. And speaking of which, Ms. Saints, if you would, please?” Mom sighs and removes her trench-coat, revealing her coconut bra and grass skirt, holding her arm and blushing. “Thank you,” he continues, playing music as mom begins her dance, “Now just as last week.”
He pulls out his cue cards and shuffles them. He pulls out a card and says.
“What is Newton’s first law?” Everyone else’s hands shoot up, but mine. He looks at me and smirks. Fuck. He then does the expected and says, “Tucker.” Without ever breaking eye contact with me.
“Oh, uh, every object will remain at rest or in uniform motion in a straight line unless compelled to change its state by the action of an external force.” the student answers.
“Correct,” Mr. Wilson responds. The student fist pumps and heads to the front of the room. Mr. Wilson blindfolds, turns, and pushes him towards mom. He squeezes her ass and she lets out a squeak. He sits back down and Mr. Wilson pulls another card.
“What are the three states of matter?” he reads. I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation. I knew what was coming. I just wanted it to be over and done with. “Warner.” Mr. Wilson calls out.
“Solid, liquid, and gas.” the student answers.
“Absolutely right,” Mr Wilson said, “Man, you guys are on fire.” The student goes up to the front of the room and is blindfolded, twirled, and pushed. She moves forward and places her hand on mom’s crotch. Mom closes her eyes and bites her lower lip.
The girl takes off the blindfold and before she can sit down, Mr. Wilson says.
“Hang on, hang on. That was a three part answer. It’s only fair that you get two more touches.” The girl smirks and massages mom’s breasts. She then sits her on the desk and rubs her crotch again. “Now before you can make your third decision,” Mr. Wilson says, “Seeing how that’s probably the hardest question in the pack, I’ll allow this once. You may lock lips if you wish.” The girl smiles and lifts mom’s leg and grabs the back of her head before leaning in for a kiss. The class shows signs of approval and I just turn my head away. I couldn’t stand this anymore.
“I can see that everyone’s enjoying the view,” Mr. Willson says, “As you should. This is a grade. Everyone needs to participate.” You fucking bag of dog shit. I turn my head back to the front, watching my mom making out with one of my classmates. After a few minutes, the girl breaks the kiss and giggles. She sits back down and Mr. Wilson pulls another card and reads, “If an egg is dropped on concrete, it usually breaks. If an egg is dropped on grass, it may not break. What conclusion explains this result?” Everyone shoots their hands up and I, again, refrain. Mr. Wilson looks at me again, this time giving me a look as if to tell me what to do. I sigh and reluctantly raise my hand.
Mr. Wilson smirks and says, “Well, finally. Saints is showing that he pays attention. What’s the answer?” Everyone then turns to look at me. There was a mixture of shock, disgust, and grins of approval. Embarrassed out of my mind, I say,
“When the egg is dropped on grass, it has a greater amount of time to stop which decreases the impact force.”
“And that is correct!” he says, “Now come claim your prize.”
“Actually, I’ll pass,” I declined.
“Now, now,” he insists, “You got the question right so you get the prize. And like I said, this is a grade.”
I groan and walk to the front of the class. Tension is basically suffocating everyone in the room as the blindfold is placed in front of my eyes. I feel myself being turned bursa escort bayan around and then pushed. I reluctantly walked forward with my hands as far up as they could go. My plan was to go for her face. I make my way toward her and grab onto something. It felt more circular than I was hoping. Oh, dammit all. All I hear is a mix of repulsed groans and giggles.
I remove the blindfold and just as expected, there is my mom. Standing there motionless. Face down in shame in a shade of red so deep it looked like every drop of blood in her body was rushed to her face. And there was my hand. In plain sight. Just chilling on her left breasticle. Of fucking course. I immediately remove my hand and go back to my desk to sit and hide my face in my arms, just praying for a dagger to just be jabbed into my skull. Class goes by and it’s nothing but the game and Oedipus jokes. All of the fun at the fair.
The last bell rings and I go to my mom’s classroom to console her, but on my way there, I see her leaving her room in a hurry. I go after her, but I’m immediately stopped by Mr. Wilson.
“Mr. Oedipus,” he greeted with a grin.
“Motherfucker,” I greeted back with a glare.
“Well, aren’t we chipper?” he continued, “I’m gonna need that demeanor next week.” I flip him off and dash towards mom.
We get in her car and we’re both just mentally and emotionally drained. She slams her head on the steering wheel and I slam my head on the dashboard. After a few moments of self loathing from both of our ends, she finally leans back up, starts the car, and drives off.
When we get home, instead of going to her room, she shuffles her way to the kitchen. Confused, I follow her. She opens a cabinet and takes out some liquor and grabs a glass. She pours the liquor and takes a sip. Fuck it. This year sucked and today whooped my ass. I need something. Anything.
I grab a cup and set it on the table. Mom looks at me, concerned and before she can say anything, I sense what she’s going to say.
“Mom, please,” I pleaded. I guess she felt pity for me because she poured some liquor in my cup.
After a few drinks, we’re both tipsy. It felt great. I felt like I could do anything. Except for not laughing. Everything was just hysterical for no reason. To be honest, it didn’t help the experience, but it didn’t hurt it either.
“And to think you’re only eighteen,” mom said, giggling.
“Well, I am your son,” I responded. We both burst into laughter, clinking our glasses and finishing our drinks. “So about earlier,” I started, “When I grabbed you. I’m sorry. I wa-” she puts her finger on my lip and says,
“Shhhh. I know. I know. Don’t worry about it. It was bound to happen at some point. And it doesn’t help that you were basically held at gunpoint.” Well, this was easier than I thought it’d be.
“Thank you for understanding,” I said, relieved.
“Well, it’s impossible for me not to,” she retorts, “I was the same way when I was your own age.”
Wait, what? “Wait, what?” I questioned.
“Oh, yeah,” she said with a nod, “I’ve had fantasies about my mom, too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. She was sexy as hell. I kinda took it too far when I would eat her out when she was sleeping. The noises she made were almost as good as she tasted. I loved it so much. Those were the days. Thank God she was a heavy ass sleeper. But now that I think about it, it’s kinda weird how she managed to put her hands on my head when she was out cold.”
Ok, wow. This took a turn. What do I do now? If I tell her I don’t feel the same way after telling me something like this, she’ll be crushed. I couldn’t do that to her.
“I’m surprised you didn’t try anything,” she continued, “I thought you’d maybe jerk it to me or something. But you barely spend any time in your room, so I know you don’t jack it in there, you don’t spend that much time in the bathroom, I don’t even wake up with any cum on me or anything.”
“Wow,” I say, completely taken aback, “It sounds like you were looking forward to that.” She blushes and smiles.
“Well,” she began, “You’re not wrong there. I wanted it so bad. Just thinking about it drove me wild. Just imagining you jerking it to your mommy, me walking in ‘on accident’ and catching you before you cum, helping you out so you won’t be uncomfortable, I’d get so turned on at those thoughts. I just wanted to taste you. Feel the warmth of your seed in my mouth. And oh, my God, the thought of riding you was euphoric. I’d bounce on you, watching you look at my tits as you’d grab my hips and thrust into me, listening to me scream your name as you filled up the very womb you came from. It was just a fantasy of mine. And now I know you want that, too.”
Fuck! First I’m having jokes about me being Oedipus and now I’m probably gonna be him. What even is my life anymore? Before I can even question anything else, I feel something on my neck. I turn my head to see my mother sucking on it. Oooof course. Why escort bursa wouldn’t it be my mother suckling on my neck with her…luscious lips? Looking at me with her gorgeous…adorable eyes and making those cute moans. This sucks.
She giggles and moves her hands to my waistband, slowly sliding them down until my semi erect penis emerges from the clothing…WHY AM I HARD?! This is my mother! I shouldn’t be getting turned on! Dick, you dick!
“My, my,” mom starts, grabbing onto it and slowly stroking, “You’ve grown to be a big boy, haven’t you? You love how your mommy was describing how naughty she’d be for you? Sucking on your neck? Grabbing on your nice…long…girthy shaft and jerking it? Hm? I bet you really love how close my mouth is, feeling my breath as I speak, just waiting for me to take it into my mouth. Don’t worry, baby. Mommy will give you what you want.”
She takes her tongue out and licks the tip of my penis. She then wraps her mouth around it and swirls her tongue around it. I bite my lower lip to stifle a moan as she slowly takes more of me into her mouth. She gets halfway and slowly bobs her head, moaning in the process. After a few bobs, she takes me out of her mouth and says,
“I’ve waited so long for this. You taste amazing, baby.” She goes back to sucking.
She then moves all the way down to my shaft. This is so wrong. I can’t believe this is happening. My mother’s got my dick in her mouth, praising its taste and making me rock solid. Why does everything hate me? And how can something so terrible feel this amazing?
Wait, what’s this feeling I’m getting? Oh, God why? I grab onto my mom’s head as I thrust into her mouth. After a few more thrusts, I release my seed into her mouth, groaning in the process. After I calm down, she takes me out of her mouth with an audible pop.
My mother has my sperm in her stomach. And I enjoyed it. I never thought those sentences would even be a possibility of being spoken into existence.
“Mmm,” she says, wiping a drop from the corner of her mouth with her finger and licks it off, “That was infinitely better than I thought it would be. So warm and tasty. But you can’t have all the fun.”
She then sits on my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck, slowly grinding herself on me.
“How’s mommy’s pussy feel, honey?” she says between gasps, “You like it, don’t you? You like having mommy rub herself on you? You’re such a perv.” she then raises herself over the tip and slowly inserts it into herself, letting out a moan. She takes time to adjust and moves her hips.
Oh my God! I shouldn’t be feeling this good inside my mother! Why am I getting more aroused? AND WHY ARE MY HANDS ON HER HIPS?! What is going on anymore?!
“Ooo,” mom cooed, “Yes, baby. Touch mommy all over. Grab mommy’s tits as she rides you.”
I do as instructed and grab onto her breasts, massaging them, as she moves up and down. She throws her head back and moans louder. My hands slither down her body and return to her hips, moving her faster, earning more moans.
“Yes,” she encouraged, “That’s it, baby. Give it to me. Fuck mommy harder. Just like that. Yeah. Show mommy how much you love it. Break into me. Fuck me. Love me. Give me more.”
Well, this just did the impossible and made things more awkward. Her talking like this is making this better. I wanna hear more. I pick her up, earning a squeak from her, and pin her against the wall, driving harder into her. She wraps her legs around my waist and we make eye contact as she moans.
“This what you wanted, mom?” I questioned, “You imagine your boy driving into your tight pussy?”
“Yeah,” she answered, “This is exactly how I wanted it. You’re such a good boy.”
I continue ramming into her, loving the noises and encouragement from her. I guess morality’s just been kicked out of my mind. I don’t think I care anymore. It can’t be that bad if everyone’s happy, right? I soon feel my orgasm building again.
“You gonna cum, baby?” she asks, “You gonna cum for me? Go ahead and cum, sweetie. Do it. Fill mommy up, sweet pea. Let me feel your warmth inside of me.”
Ok, if that’s what she wants. I grip her hips harder and move harder and faster. After a few more thrusts, we both let out a loud moan as we climax. And just as she wanted, I filled her up with my cum as she coated me with hers.
As we both calm down, we smile at each other, catching our breath and taking in what just happened. I sit back down on the chair at the table and sit her in my lap.
“So how was that?” I questioned, “Was it anything like you imagined?”
“Perfectly,” she answered, “I love you.”
“I love you, too, mom,” I responded. We share a passionate kiss.
I notice how drowsy she looks, so I carry her to her room. I lay her on her bed and kiss her forehead. We exchange “I love yous” before she closes her eyes and goes to sleep.
I carefully walked out of her room so as to not disturb her. When I walk to the living room, the full gravity of what I just did just drops on top of me like a mack truck along with a trailer. I just fucked my own mother and shot my seed inside of her. Please tell me she secretly took some sort of protection.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32