Jura sighed and leaned back, careful not to bump his shoulders against the icy cold tile of the back of the shower. Hot water poured down the soft feathers at his neck and chest, rolling over his slim body and dripping down at his hips, his thighs, down around his tail-crest at the back, and then flung this way and that under the quick, steady rhythm of his arm down in front, hand clutched around his full arousal. First it had just been the usual admiring himself in the mirror while waiting for the water to heat up, and then it went into the actual sensation of that water running down his body, like so many soft, inquisitive fingers slipping through his feathers, running down between his legs, tickling along his shaft and sack.

And then his thoughts had shifted as well. The mood had been there in the back of his mind all day, but now that he finally had a moment to himself away from his mother’s playful nagging, Jura could finally close his eyes, tilt his head back, and dive deep into those fantasies and scenarios… at least, until he felt a slow, heavy wall of chilly air from outside the shower reach in and spread across his back. Curious, the rosy-faced lovebird opened his eyes yet continued his rhythm, peeked up and over his shoulder, frowned at the way the glass door stood open, and then jumped when another taloned hand lightly gripped his shoulder.

Then her voice sent a startled shock and shiver of dread through his body, almost killing his arousal right then and there. Almost. “Well, well,” his mother cooed, other hand already coming down along his chest. Sharp claws slid easily through soaked feathers. “What have we got here? Are you misbehaving again, Jura?” 

The young male jerked upright, immediately moving to cover himself with both of his hands – but to his surprise and humiliation again, she gripped his wrist and held him away. “Mom! I’m – in the shower, let me-”

“Yes,” she went on, breath warm on the back of his neck against the chill grip of the air. “You are. And just before this you were in my room, trying on my underwear, weren’t you? The lacy black lingerie. It fits you well; you did get my figure, after all, though…”

Another shiver rocketed up and down his spine. One of her hands went up towards the back of his head, while the other continued forward around his hip and then down in front.

“You got this from your father,” she purred, spreading her fingers through the crest of bright blue feathers rising up atop his head, “and then, of course, this as well…”

Then that shock bounced right back and forth again. His mother peeled his own fingers away from the base of his hard shaft and took their place, curling one after another along his base and giving a squeeze. Shocked, embarrassed, in complete disbelief, the young male stood stock still, eyes now wide open, brow furrowed.

Then she gave a slow, steady stroke, squeezing him up towards the end so that sleek foreskin slid forward and bunched up, then moved the side of her forefinger and thumb over there, rolled the overlapping folds of skin back and forth, and pulled back again, letting the slight tension of the rim slip back across his head underneath her grip. Then again, and again, pulling back a bit further so that his body reflexively shivered and pulsed with the sensation, and forward so that one of his legs trembled and he gasped.

“And then,” she went on, now stepping halfway into the shower behind him. Jura had to take a step forward to accommodate, yet still felt the full, heavy heat of her bare breasts against his shoulders, sending another shock through him: she was fully naked, too. “There was two days before. Do you remember what I was doing then, Jura? On Wednesday?”

While his mother spoke she trailed her other hand down along his sleek belly, following the little lines of gentle muscle buried beneath soft wet feathers. He tightened up, swallowed, tried not to thrust into her other hand, failed, and then shuddered again when she enclosed his balls within her palm, rolling them softly back and forth between her fingers.

“I was in the shower, then, and you poked your little head in and watched. Oh, it wasn’t an accident – don’t give me that look – you stayed, and you watched. What did you see, little bird? You liked it, didn’t you?”

As a matter of fact, he had. Feeling her chest against his back, Jura saw in his head what he did then: his mother’s sleek, angular form, these same breasts lifting up beneath her hands as she soaped herself up, squishing in between her fingers, settling back down when she focused somewhere else. How she turned to face her backside to the door as she bent over to scrub at her legs, the width of her tailfeathers lifting up to show silken, puckered flesh underneath, fogged and indistinct through the steamy glass.

Her fingers slid away from his sack back towards the line of his hip bone, and gripped there to tug her son back against her body. Jura gasped, put an arm out against the other wall, shuddered, and then instinctively pushed back against her, and realized what he had done a split second later. She chuckled in his ear, gave her beak a little clack, and now focused both hands there at his length, one squeezing the base while the other continued stroking him faster and harder.

“If handling you is anything like taking care of your father,” she cooed, “then I’ve already got quite a bit of practice. How does this feel, hon? Or, maybe, I could…”

Jura tried to keep it down, tried to shift his mind to something else, tried to pull himself away from her, but found that no matter what, his body still deeply wanted it. Every time he closed his eyes he saw only her, in the shower, in the bath, lying out on the balcony sunbathing in the nude; every time he shifted where he stood he felt her breasts against his back, her arms around his body, her hand stroking him closer and closer; he swallowed, gritted his teeth, flashed his eyes open, squeezed them shut again-

-and then bucked, jerked, bucked again, and again, and had to reach out and brace his hand against the shower wall to remain upright under force of the orgasm that shot through him. He gasped, shuddered, moan through clenched teeth, and heard the second of his spurts slap against the opposite wall, then the third, and then the fourth and fifth dribbling out along his underside and over his mother’s fingers, still wrapped in place there.

She gave him a few more slow, steady strokes, milking out the rest. “There,” she said, and finally brought her hand away; Jura followed it with tired, satisfied, embarrassed eyes, up over his shoulder where those fingers briefly disappeared into her mouth. “I told you so. Never doubt your mother, hon. I think I’ll leave you to clean up now, but… I do need a shower, myself.”

Her arms wrapped up around his chest again, smearing some of his own seed there across his fingers. Despite himself, Jura shivered and let out another sighing moan.