12 comments/ 255580 views/ 30 favorites A Mother's Helping Hand By: trevorm When Jason Jackson broke both his arms in a motor-cycle accident he hadn't quite envisioned just how supportive a mother can be. With both arms firmly set in plaster he was discharged from hospital after only a few days and sent home for rest and recovery. The breaks to both his forearms were unusually complicated and necessitated a rigid setting with plaster casts which would allow virtually no movement at all, and which were to remain in an outstretched position for a minimum of six weeks. The upshot of this was an inconveniencing to his daily routine and ablutions of such magnitude that he was no longer able to wash, dress, or use the toilet without his dear mother's total assistance and patience. Now, it takes something quite beyond the normal calls of duty to attend to a person's daily, and indeed hourly needs, even if it is one's own flesh and blood. Dignity goes out of the window and a special kind of relationship is forged. Quite how special, Jason and his mother could never have imagined. Life is full of surprises, and it's a surprise indeed to discover your dear old mum is prepared to go further than just wiping your backside to help you live a semi-functional life, if not a perfect one. After about three weeks of incapacitation, frustrations and arguments, not only boredom and resentment, had set in. Jason had begun to complain of some discomfort in the lower abdomen. With natural motherly concern Mrs Jackson had called for the doctor fearing that this perhaps was the onset of appendicitis or something equally nasty. Upon examination and some delicate coaxing and probing of the patient the doctor assured her that this was most definitely not appendicitis and the problem was being caused by a less serious, though equally uncomfortable and more delicate reason. Jason's difficulty was indeed being caused by frustration, but not of the psychological variety, though there was plenty of that. It was more the physical lack of 'self-abuse' variety. The doctor explained to Jason's mum, in his best bedside manner, that at Jason's age, hormones are rampant and that a lot of young men around Jason's age produced an excess of seminal fluid, particularly if they had already developed a fondness for masturbation, which, if not addressed at fairly regular intervals could quickly build up and cause a painful, bloated feeling in the lower abdomen. "How fascinating," said Mrs Jackson. "I knew it wasn't constipation - that boy could crap for England, believe me! I'm the one who suffers with constipation." "Yes, quite so," said the doctor. "Could I have a quick word with you in private, Mrs Jackson?" They went out onto the landing and in discreetly hushed tones, the doctor explained that all Jason needed was some physical stimulation. This revelation produced a look of realisation in Mrs Jackson's countenance that would have matched a tropical sunrise. "Oh, I see...You mean...Jason needs to er...erm..." She giggled nervously and blushed. "Yes, I'm afraid so. To put it bluntly, Mrs Jackson, the poor chap's in desperate need of a good wank. It's as simple as that." "I wondered why his, well, his er...Why he's always on parade, if you know what I mean. Standing to attention." "Quite." "That explains it. Whenever I help him in the bathroom, he always gets, you know – stiff. It's so damned awkward - and embarrassing. I don't like to embarrass him more than necessary, but I can't avoid touching his thing at such times. I have to get him to stand a good two metres - that's about six tiles - from the toilet and let him pee up into the air while I in the meantime, make the necessary adjustments for angle and flow and attempt to guide it in the right place. If I get it wrong there can be a fair amount of mopping up I can tell you." "Quite." "So what should I do?" "Does Jason have a girlfriend who might be able to help him once in a while? You know, purely in the interest of medicine?" "Well, not at the moment, no!" Doctor Phillips raised his eyebrows. She said, "So what can we do? He's got at least another three weeks in plaster, and the pains are getting worse." "I'd best leave it to you, Mrs Jackson." The doctor tapped the side of his nose. "A mother's natural ingenuity, my dear. It always comes to the fore in times of adversity. May I discreetly suggest, Mrs Jackson," and here, the doctor gave Mrs Jackson a conspiratorial little nudge, "that if you've already had your hand on it, so to speak, you're virtually halfway there." The doctor turned and walked towards the stairs. "Needs must, Mrs Jackson...Needs must. I'll see myself out." And with those words of wisdom, the doctor left. Mrs Jackson considered what the doctor had said. Did he seriously mean that she herself was going to have to take her own son in hand and relieve him? The doctor hadn't actually spelled it out, but almost. After all, what else could he mean? She considered the possibility of getting someone else in to do it, but who? Jason didn't have a regular girlfriend at the moment, and anyway she shouldn't be encouraging that sort of thing in the home, and how would she explain what needed to be done to whoever it was she chose to help out without causing offence and embarrassment? What about Elsie next door? She's probably have a go. She was pretty broad minded (and broad-beamed) when it came to things of a delicate nature, but a 60 year old woman tossing off your 18 year old son was rather difficult to accept, let alone imagine. She supposed she could hire someone, a professional lady, or even arrange for a nurse to call round and oblige purely on medical grounds. But nothing or no one she could think of seemed to be a suitable alternative. Alternative to what, though? Letting her poor son suffer agonising stomach cramps until he was capable of attending to himself. Or doing what she knew in her heart of hearts was the only humane course of action? She stood outside the bedroom door and wondered just how she was going to break the news to Jason. Was it best to concoct some cock-and-bull (apt) story, which made an indirect suggestion of what needed to be done? That would perhaps soften the blow, that is if Jason caught on to what she was hinting at. He wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box and didn't always catch on too quickly. Or maybe it might be possible to take him by surprise? Do it covertly by incorporating it in the normal course of events. After all, as the doctor said, she'd already had her hand on it, so that particular obstacle had been surmounted. So what about if she, you know, began doing what was necessary as a natural extension of his morning or evening ablutions? Probably morning, because it would seem more PC and medically acceptable to do it in the cold light of day, and he always woke up with a stiffie anyway, so he'd be up for it (no pun intended). Whereas, doing it in the evening would seem kind of tawdry somehow, and send out the wrong message. On the other hand, to come straight out with what needed to be done, while being an initial shock, was probably the best policy. He would respect her for her honesty... wouldn't he? She went back into the bedroom with the intention of telling Jason what was wrong and what needed to be done to rectify it. "What did he say, Mum? You look worried about something. Nothing bad, is it?" "No, just awkward. Look, darling... I don't know there's any best way to say this so I'll just come out with it..." Jason's mouth came open. He looked wide-eyed and frightened. "Christ, Mum... What is it?" "Those pains you're getting..." "Yeah, what..?" "They're caused by a build-up of..." "What?" "Semen." "What?" "Spunk. That's what the doctor said, anyway." Jason coloured brightly. "What?" "Sorry, Jase. I didn't want to embarrass you. He said it's probably a build-up of seminal fluid because you..." "What?" "Oh dear... Because you haven't been able to see to yourself for a while, since... well, since you lost the use of your arms, anyway." "Jesus! Are you saying what I think you're saying, Mother?" "I think I might be. Doctor Phillips says you're in need of a good wank! Ha! There, I've said it! I didn't think I would be able to, but I have. So there we are." Jason face was like a traffic light. "Fucking hell! So who's going to do that for me..? Michelle Pfeifer?" Jason looked at his mother with a feeling of impending doom. She surely wasn't suggesting that... "I'll go and make us both a cup of tea, darling. I think we're both going need it. We need to have a little talk." (...to be continued in Chapter Two...) A Mother's Helping Hand Ch. 02 (My sincere apologies for misleading people by not labelling the first part - Part One. I hope this hasn't spoiled things for anyone.) * While Mrs Jackson made the tea she pondered the task ahead -- that of taking her son sexually, albeit medically, in hand. The prospect of having to attend to Jason's sexual 'needs' created a mixture of emotions inside her. On the one hand there was a certain sense of fear of the unknown... as far as being intimate with her son was concerned. If it went badly, might their 'normal' mother/son relationship be affected and compromised; and if it went well, in other words, a favourable outcome occurred without any sexual intent by either party (difficult to imagine when a woman is fisting her son's cock with the sole intention of bringing it to orgasm), would their relationship then be enhanced? But here lay a danger also -- what if the process of assisted ejaculation was enjoyable enough, would either of them then to want to try it again? What if mother and son both enjoyed it equally, with no feelings of guilt and shame to spoil things? Was it possible that something like being tossed off by one's loving mum could be so sexually charged with forbidden lust that the derived enjoyment then became an addiction? And what if then, this addiction evolved into a craving for ever stronger and more frequent 'fixes'? After all, there was more than one way to skin a cat, and more than half-a-dozen ways of bringing a man to orgasm, it was just a matter of imagination and variation. A woman did not only rely on only her hands to stimulate a man. Holding a penis tentatively between forefinger and thumb with the sole intention of directing pee into a toilet bowl, was an entirely different kettle of fish to full-handing a nice hard young cock all the way to orgasm. A totally different level of intimacy would surely be experienced. Somehow, this outcome seemed to put a rather unsavoury slant on the exercise, even though it was vital to Jason's well-being. All these thoughts caused a little flurry of butterflies in Mrs Jackson's stomach, and as she filled the teapot with boiling water, she noticed that her hands were quite unsteady all of a sudden. On the other hand, there was a peculiar and mounting excitement about it all, a sense of dare and adventure, and, if she was honest, a tantalising temptation to cross one of the great taboos. Many mothers, at some point in their lives experience this temptation, the need for sexual intimacy with their offspring. It can happen at any age and sometimes even be ongoing. Jason was a very good-looking and athletic young man, tall and blond, with a well-honed, muscular body. She was rightly proud of him. There had been times when she was able to observe him without him being aware - of him polishing his beloved Yamaha out by the back door, his long corn-coloured hair falling lazily over one eye that so reminded her of his father; and of Jason fixing an item of electrical equipment in the home, a look of intense concentration that brought a deep furrow to his brow; and also of seeing him standing behind a steam clouded shower screen while a fresh towel was taken into to him because he'd forgotten. She could not help her gaze lingering on his fuzzy image for a moment before going out again -- that had made her think things she perhaps shouldn't... like... "If only I wasn't his mother," or equally, "If only he wasn't my son." And now the possibility and temptation of crossing that great divide, of indulging in something that was considered utterly forbidden and unforgivable by society, loomed before her like the devil's advocate, for right now she was holding a ticket, endorsed by the medical profession, that virtually legitimised sexual activity with her own son. Jason was sitting up in bed, waiting for the return of his mother. His trepidation was mounting. He feared the worst about what this "little chat" would be about, because it wasn't hard to put two-and-two together to see what his mother had been hinting at. Yet what could he do about it? He was a slave to his body's needs and its desperate longing for fulfilment. His stomach cramps were getting worse by the hour, his thoughts becoming ever more salacious. He had tried in vain to 'will' himself to cum, by imagining a sexual situation or adventure, a fantasy where intense mental concentration would transmute into something tangible. He'd long to put his hand on his cock, so that physical stimulation matched mental. But the casts on his arms prevented him from doing so, holding him prisoner, defying and denying him every time. That last hurdle was so difficult to surmount. It was as if the finish line would be in sight, almost within reach, when something then hauled him back at the critical moment, like in a bad dream where your legs suddenly won't work. They become heavy and slow and an unseen hand pulls you back, tantalisingly holding you just out of reach of the Holy Grail. A couple of times he nearly made it, but that final effort, that final erotic image that would have helped him cross the sacred line, always in the end eluded him, and he would then curse and wallow in abject misery at his failure. The looming prospect of being made to cum by his mum's own tanned hand at first had a sobering effect on him and for once his penis lay flaccid against his leg, while the terrible thought pervaded his mind. He had only just about come to terms with the fact that his mother had already had to handle him to help him urinate. But then he had had no choice. There was embarrassment about her wiping his cock after peeing, his bottom after evacuating his bowels, and as if the act itself wasn't enough to humiliate him, the after-care would prolong his agony. And then the ignominy of bathing him, of seeing all the intimate and private details of his person that would normally be hidden from her eyes at his stage of life. But what could he do? He had to submit to her touches, her accidental brushes and caresses of his genitals, and knowing all the time that her eyes were seeing his most private of possessions. They were mother and son, but at his age, a young adult, that sense of shame and helplessness seemed to devour him, consume him so completely he felt sometimes smothered by her. He would snap at her, take out his mounting frustration on her if she infringed his sensibilities with an indelicate movement, a misplaced finger; or if she accidentally hurt him by manoeuvring his sensitive testicles too readily, to facilitate their washing. Sometimes the cock would come alive in her hand, like a baby bird, finding its wings in one fleeting moment, ready to take flight. She would feel the heat coming off her son's face as a consequence as he tried in vain to remain detached from the necessary ablution. He was totally reliant on her - she his mistress, and he... her prisoner, at her complete mercy, yet obliged to be grateful that she was tending him also. She came in and set the tray down. She wanted to smile in a friendly, relaxed way, but her jaw was set firm and grim by her troubled mind. A moral question clawed at her heart, and she waited for an answer from within. She sat down on the chair beside the bed. "We'll have to get you washed, dressed and moving around, young man. Now the doctor's gone." "I know what you're going to tell me, Mum," he said. "You do? I don't suppose that makes it any easier for either of us, does it?" "No." "But you know something's got to be done to relieve your tummy pains, don't you?" "I guess so." Jason indicated the cup of tea with his eyes and his mother brought it to his lips for him to sip. "I don't know what to say to make it any better for you, son. I guess the thought of your old mum doing it doesn't quite get your pulse racing." She put the cup back down on its saucer, and then started drinking hers. Jason looked at his mother, not her face, but her legs that were angled towards him, knees together, nearest his face. She was wearing an old pair of jeans, faded and threadbare at the knees. In fact the left one was split quite badly and he was able to see her tanned knee beneath it. He knew his mother had nice legs, shapely and long, a point his mates had often commented about. In fact apart from the slight overhang of her soft little tummy, she had a good figure overall, although, sitting there like she was it was difficult to tell, to appreciate her attributes. The normal shapeliness of her breasts was negated by a loose-fitting, light blue cardigan over a floral blouse -- house clothes, as was normal when she wasn't going out, or going to work. But Carol Jackson was the kind that 'scrubbed up well', and she could still turn a head or two, attract the odd building site wolf whistle. Not bad for 40. She looked great when she dressed smartly for her office job, either a nice fitting grey pin-stripe trouser suit or navy blue skirt type suit; that's if she wanted to impress the boss with her legs. Since her husband, Cliff had taken off with some floozy two years previous and never came back, she'd had a succession of men at work wanting to take her out. There'd been a couple of blokes that appealed to her, but things hadn't worked out because of one thing or another. She found it hard to replace the void left by Cliff; in fact, if she was honest with herself... she still loved him in her heart of hearts. That's why Jason was so important to her, part of her husband still with her. Jason looked so much like him, and his mannerisms, the way he came out with things sometimes, reminded Carol so much of Cliff. Carol peered over the top of her cup at her son, lying there on the top of the covers in his 'jim-jams' -- tee-shirt and shorts, legs nicely muscled and tanned from his holiday in Greece. Soft black hairs, like sable, gave his legs a virile look. He looked fed-up and resigned, yet a little grin played on his lips, as if in anticipation of something naughty. His lop-sided smile was so sexy. What a smashing-looking bloke, she thought... if only... if only... (...continued in Part Three -- Mrs Jackson does the hand-jive!..) A Mother's Helping Hand Ch. 03 Part Three (Willy does the hand-jive) "I'm going to fetch a towel," Mrs Jackson suddenly announced. "Don't take all the romance out of it, Mum." Mrs Jackson smiled inwardly at her son's unexpected wit. "I think we just ought to get on with it," she said as she turned to go out to the airing cupboard. She regretted her matter-of-fact tone, but it wasn't easy to strike the right note for what was about happen. She could hardly say, "Right, my lovely rutty boy... Mummy's going to give you a jolly good wank, so you must be good and shoot all your warm creamy spunk for her," could she? Well, not quite yet anyway. She could be accused of being provocative, of deliberately inciting her son to participate in an indecent sexual act with her. Yet being too cool about it, too mechanical, might be just as bad. If he stayed limp and non-aroused, it would be almost impossible to achieve the intended goal. She would have to strike the right balance. It was a delicate situation. In her mind she could hear the doctor's voice, see him tapping the side of his nose: "Needs must, Mrs Jackson. A woman's intuition... It always comes to the fore in times of adversity..." Her heart was pounding as she reached for an old clean towel from the top shelf. She brought it to her nose and sniffed. Slightly musty, but it would have to do. There was an equal mix of fear and devilment inside her. For a moment she considered smartening herself up... but why, for heaven's sake? Would that be respectful... or just plain provocative? She went to the bathroom to check her face. She found it difficult to look herself in the eye, but she had to. Face to face with the evil witch, the siren, the harlot. She fussed with her hair, using her fingers to tidy the straggled strands of blonde hair. She went to her bedroom and brushed it out in front of the dressing table mirror. She put red lipstick on. "Oh this is ridiculous," she thought. "Trying to make myself attractive for my son? Whatever will he think? He'll laugh at me, that's what he'll do." But she continued to make herself nice, bringing a shine to her hair with some vigorous brushing, despite her doubts. "Oh well, blow it! In for a penny, in for a pound!" And she changed her clothes as well. She undressed, sprayed some underarm anti-perspirant, and then a tiny puff of eau de toilette on her neck. She didn't want to appear too obvious, or smell like a tart, that was just silly and corny. But then, most men never noticed if you'd had your hair done anyway, or wore some new clothes, so chances were, Jason wouldn't notice either. But deep down, if she was totally honest with herself, she wanted her son to fancy her as a woman, but to love her also as a mum, and even afterwards when it was done, she wanted him to still love her, but as a mum most of all. She knew she would always love him, whatever the outcome of this little episode and the future. She was worried only for him, how he would handle it. Was it possible for a son to see his mother as a sex object one minute, and a loving mum the next? She would soon find out. Carol changed into a black, light-cotton summer skirt and a nicely-fitting, white cheesecloth shirt that clearly showed the form of her breasts, but in a tasteful way. She stood up, in front of the full-length mirror to make some final adjustments. "You'll have to do, Carol. Good luck, girl!" The fact was - she looked very appealing, sexy, but in a 'mumsy' nice kind of way, an irresistible combination to a lot of men. She had a last smile at her reflection, gathered up the towel and went back into Jason's bedroom with her new brave face and freshened resolve. He was sitting upright still, but his eyes were closed. Was he asleep; or just resting his eyes? Perhaps he was running through the awful scene in his mind. What made her do it, she wasn't sure, but she looked directly at his crotch. She felt cheap, as if taking advantage while her son's eyes were shut. She kind of stared, unable to take her eyes away. What state was he in inside those shorts? Nothing was obvious. Judging by what she could see, he didn't appear to have an erection at that moment. That was a change. So many times she had had to handle Jason's cock in its naughty state, inflexible and wilful, pointing it the direction of the toilet bowl and hoping he would hit the target. She laid the towel, still folded, on the bed and reached out her hand to feel him, blatantly and unashamedly. She was surprised at herself, at her boldness. It felt soft and warm, like a little bird trapped in a cloth bag. His body shot forward in surprise, his eyes coming wide open. "MUM! What do you-" "Just wanted to see if you were really asleep." "I'm not now, am I? For Christ's sake, Mother!" Jason nodded at the towel. "I see you've come prepared." "For the worst case scenario. I don't know how much mess you're going to make?" Oops, she thought. That was a little insensitive. "Me? It won't be my fault." He took a deep breath. "Mum..? I'm not sure I can do this." "Yes you can, and you will. I'm going to make sure of it. So you needn't think about copping out. I'm going to do this, whether you, or we like it or not. You can't carry on as you are, building up more stuff inside you." He was looking at her now. For a moment it was as if they would both laugh at the absurdity of the situation. But they simply smiled at each other, in a half embarrassed, half-amused way. He hadn't mentioned her change of clothing, which was something. If he had noticed anything different about her, he wasn't saying, which was maybe his way of being discreetly polite and probably for the best. Carol still felt nervous, but it was more a nervous excitement, a kind of sexual tension as much as anything. And that underlying feeling of naughtiness and devilment was still there, only now it was closer to the surface... much, much closer. At the final moment she decided to play the part, ham it up, pull out all the stops. Go for it girl, opportunities like this didn't come along too often in a lifetime. She stood by the bed, feeling strangely matronly and bossy. "Right, my lad... Are you comfortable propped up like that? Or do you want to lie flat on your back?" "What difference does it make?" "Well," said 'matron', "if you stay propped up you can watch what's going on – that is, if you're interested. If you lie down you can just look at the ceiling and think of England." "I think I'll stay where I am. I won't feel so bloody helpless." "You're not going to surrender yourself to me completely then?" "Mum..? Just get on with it." "Are you being cheeky to your mummy?" "What are you on about?" "Are you?" Mrs Jackson felt Jason's crotch again. There seemed to be a change in mood. She squeezed him. "I said: are you being cheeky to your mother?" "No!" That hurt just then, you know." "That's just to remind you who's in charge." "Okay, so you're in charge." "Good, I'm glad we agree." Mrs Jackson relaxed her grip, but continued to fondle her son through his pyjama shorts, gentle, probing caresses calculated to arouse. She watched his face, saw his expression change and his complexion redden with embarrassment. Through the light cotton material she could feel her son's cock responding to her insistent fondling. Her tummy did a little flip-flop inside, encouraged by what she felt. She could hear her heart beating in her ears and feel the warmth in her swelling breast, part maternal, part lustful. Without taking her active hand away, she used the other to move the bedside chair down so that it was positioned adjacent to her son's pelvis. Then she sat down, side-on to the bed, so that her knees were pointing towards the bed-head. She slowly crossed her legs so that her skirt rode an inch or two above the knee - a calculated gesture. She continued to watch Jason's handsome features, looking for a sign that might reveal his inner thoughts. She played with his cock and balls in a distracted way, as if it was the hand of another woman doing the deed. She watched his eyes close, as if in denial at what was happening. He was hard now. How delicious to have him at her mercy, unable to resist her advances. She could do what she wanted with him and there would be nothing he could do about it. That thought strangely excited her. When she looked away from his face to his crotch, she could see that when she brought her hand away, a nice wigwam remained - its centre-pole beating with a steady pulse that moved his shorts discernibly and told her he was ready. She got up from the chair to pull his shorts down. She helped him lift his bottom up so she could slide his shorts out of the way. His prick suddenly sprang out like a rubber cosh, revelling in its newly found freedom. Jason was well-endowed for an eighteen year old. She estimated him to be, maybe seven inches erect, very respectable. Not that she was unfamiliar with his dimensions, it was just that at this moment his size seemed more significant than ever before. She slid his shorts down to his ankles, but instead of removing them completely, kept them where they were, thinking this would restrict the movement of his legs, should Jason have the sudden urge to kick out in the excitement of the moment. A foot in the stomach or boob could be a painful thing, if not just damned dangerous. Better safe than sorry. She then reached for the tub of cold cream that she used whenever the casts chafed Jason's wrists. She scooped a blob on her fingertip and rubbed it between her palms until they were nice and greasy. Then she returned her attention to Jason's cock. It had a lovely light-brown hue along the shaft, laced with purple veins. The head was beginning to look like a crowing cockerel. She took him in hand, working the grease into his prick. She heard a small inward sigh, a soft moan. When it was done she got some more cream from the tub and used this to aid her in her masturbation of him, working her hand up and down, sliding along the length of it. It felt good and hot, slippery thick meat, and not for the first time since she began her tending of Jason, she had to admit to a familiar feeling between her legs, a tingling, an itch. She stopped for a moment to uncross them, squirming with the strange, but not unpleasant discomfort between her thighs. She then re-crossed her legs the other way. Jason had opened his eyes for a moment and found himself looking at his mother, her breasts, now prominent in the closer fitting cheesecloth shirt, appeared to beckon to him. Then down to her legs. Her skirt was higher, tauter than before. Whether this was deliberate or a misjudgement on Carol's part hardly mattered. Jason was enjoying the view which was presented to him. He could see the long curve of her thigh disappearing under her skirt, smell her perfume, and her sex. His mother smiled and winked. She knew why he was looking. "Do you like my legs?" she said. Jason nodded. His breathing had become ragged. "And my tits?" "I wish I could see them for real." "And to you like what I'm doing to you?" "Yes, Mum. I love it." "Good. Does my little boy love his mummy?" Another nod, a fluttering and rolling of eyes. "Does he love his mummy... lots and lots?" There was a croak, from Jason's throat which felt tight and dry to him. "Yes, he said." "Well, she loves you too!" "Please make me cum, Mother... Force me to shoot off for you. I want you to watch me cum." "You naughty boy! I will have to smack you for that." And she did, giving him a playful slap to the inside of his right thigh, and another to the left. His legs flexed in response to the little stings he felt. But they were held in place by the shorts around his ankles. She went back to rubbing his cock. "Any more crudeness from you, young man, and I will have to smack you hard. All I want is for you to enjoy your mummy's hand rubbing your lovely cock." "Oh, Mother... I love you." Mrs Jackson's worked smoothly along the length of her son's cock, settling into a steady rhythm. In the silence of the room, she could hear the slippy-slicky sounds that resulted from her actions. She then brought her other hand to bear, and rubbed the slippery, muscular-looking penis between her palms, a technique she had used on certain men, including her ex. It felt wonderful and sexy to have her son thus, caressing him between her feminine, long-boned fingers. She had the sudden impulse, or at least the thought, of taking it in her mouth. It was almost irresistible. Would that be overtly obscene? What would her son think of her for doing something like that? But before she could act on this impulse, there came a cry of release from Jason, a deep and long, almost strangled cry of anguish. To him, it was as if he felt a rushing of something, something crucial and significant inside of him, like something being set free after weeks of captivity. There was a surging from his balls. His body tensed and his head banged back against the bed-head, then fell forward on his chest. His legs tried to break free from their confinement so violently that the muscles stood out on his thighs. His pelvis bucked and squirmed. Mrs Jackson knew this was the critical moment. She could feel the bubbling and pulsing of his poor, frustrated dick. One hand continued to bring it to the boil and with the other she prepared the towel. But it was too late. A great stream of pearly white liquid cut the air in a long continuous arc, spewing and spitting from the eye of Jason's pride-and-joy to splash down in sticky little puddles on his chest and belly, still clad in the grey tee-shirt. A couple of stray dollops landed on the tops of his mother's knees as she struggled to contain the pulsing jets with the towel. His guts began to melt away from him, like quicksilver running through his loins as he emptied himself of the molten seed and along with it, the pain and frustrations of the last three weeks. "Oh my goodness, Jason. What a lot you've got. Clever boy! Good boy!" "Ugghh! Oh sweet Jesus. Ugghh!" "Come on, get it all out. You'll feel better for it," said Mrs Jackson, squeezing the base of his spluttering dick, as if this would somehow eject every last drop. And with one final grunt, Jason flopped back against the bed-head as a mixed feeling of elation and shame engulfed him. It was a violent ejaculation, the most intense he had ever experienced. The air in the room smelled strongly of fresh semen, and body sweat. "Oh Mum, sorry! You must be disgusted with me. Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Jason covered his eyes with his hand. "Why?" "All the mess, the gooey muck, you know. I couldn't help it... I'm so sorry. You must feel sick seeing it all." "Stop saying sorry... and I don't feel sick. I'm pleased for you. You certainly blew, that's for sure. I hadn't bargained for Mount Etna. But you'll be all the better for it." "Mount what?" "Never mind, my handsome boy... never mind." Just relax while I clean up. Why don't you have a little sleep and get your strength back? You look dead beat." "I could sleep for a week, Mum. And guess what? "Mmm?" "That goddam awful pain in my guts seems to have gone, just like magic." "Well, Jason... in that case I do believe we've had a resounding success. Doctor Phillips was right in his diagnosis then, wasn't he?" Mrs Jackson mopped up as best she could. The little droplets of cum on her knees were already thinning to water and beginning to run down her shins. She wiped these also. She had a sudden urgent need for the bathroom, but not to pee. She flopped down on the toilet, lifted her skirt and pulled her panties to the side. She moved her legs apart to facilitate the thing that for her was impossible to ignore a moment longer. She had caressed herself no more than a dozen times when the most intense orgasm ripped through her. She tried desperately to hold in the shriek of joy and release that threatened to escape from her, as she ended up, face down against the tops of her gleaming, brown thighs. Her fingers glistened with her wetness. She felt weak and spent, and as the tears sprang to her eyes, so her whole body began to shake. "Oh dear Father, please forgive me, for I have sinned terribly..." Somewhere in the distance, she thought she could hear a voice calling back to her: "Then go ahead and sin more... You must demonstrate the love for your son in the ways that are right for you. Smother him; shape him; consume him – he is yours to use and cosset in whatever measures you so desire. He is your son... your son...yours forever..." Had such a shattering orgasm left her in a state of feverish hallucination? It had certainly left its mark. (...continued in Part Four – Blow Job for a Special Son...) A Mother's Helping Hand Ch. 04 Chapter Four Blow Job for a Special Son When Mrs Jackson had finally composed herself, she straightened her clothing and got unsteadily to her feet on legs that didn't seem to belong to her. Her orgasm had left her physically and emotionally drained. She went back into Jason's room and found him dozing. He looked peaceful, almost serene. It was as if all the strain, all the tension of the past few weeks had been lifted from him. She watched him breathing, the light rattle of a gentle snore already in accompaniment. His ample chest rose and fell slowly with his steady, even breaths. Her eyes swivelled to his crotch. No sign of an erection now. She wondered when he would need relieving again with a mixed sense of apprehension and excited anticipation. Having done it once, surely the second time would be easier now that the initial fears of guilt and embarrassment had been negotiated. The only obstacle that seemed to remain now was the fear of enjoying it - the act of taking her son in hand - so much that she became hooked on it. But she couldn't deny that she was kind of looking forward to her next call to arms, even though it scared her a little. It would surely be better than before, without the awkward tension that existed the first time between mother and son. Perhaps the next time, or if things continued to progress well, she could even spice things up a little? With the prospect of more illicit fun on the horizon, there was also a downside that occurred to her. She began to view the eventual removal of Jason's arm-casts with a sense of trepidation. Once her son was restored to full health, she would no longer be needed for all the things that he was at the moment incapable of performing for himself -- the washing, the dressing, the feeding, the... And while it was the least she could do in performing these duties for him, she was being held prisoner as much as her son by his incapacitation. But having tasted the pleasures and sins of intimacy with her own flesh and blood, there remained one duty she would now be loath to relinquish. What if the next visit to outpatients resulted in the casts being removed? Normal service would then be resumed. There would no longer be a legitimate reason for continuing intimate relations with her son. She felt closer to him now than ever before and there was an extra bond developing that had little to do with maternal love. Mother and son had become intrinsically linked by an act of mercy, yet one that was nonetheless sexual in its application. Inducing one's own son to orgasm had an excitement and appeal about it that could not be obtained or equalled by normal sexual relations - that is, those outside of the family blood circle - and this was something that Mrs Jackson had become, perverse as it seemed, well aware of. It was Thursday. The next visit to outpatients was the coming Tuesday and the possibility of good news for Jason - if not his mother. Since his motorcycle accident, Carol had arranged to work only afternoons until her son could see to himself. In this way she was able to attend to Jason's morning needs and he would then be okay until she returned at around half-past-five. She had modified certain items of clothing for him, two or three pairs of jeans that had the front and back cut away to facilitate his toilet needs, and while these looked comically obscene, it was a necessity that couldn't be ignored. Of course, if it came to bottom-wiping, it was still a problem. Fortunately, he wasn't often caught short in the afternoon. He was regular as clockwork, and then at the times his mother was on hand to see to him - namely mornings. She felt reluctant to wake him from such a relaxed sleep, but it was necessary to get him up, washed and moving about. She knew he needed some sort of exercise and to take an interest in the things around him. She didn't want him to die of boredom sitting on the sofa all day. Once Mrs Jackson had seen to her son's needs and got him comfortable on the sofa, she kissed him on the forehead, ruffled his hair and left for work. In the days that followed, Carol Jackson masturbated her son for a second time on the Saturday morning, following his first pee of the day. It wasn't planned -- it just happened that way. For only the second time that week, Carol had found Jason in a state of repose. The release of semen two days previously had obviously gone some way to addressing and relieving the constant hard-ons Jason had been suffering the last few weeks. He had finished peeing, but instead of his mother tidying him up straight away, she held onto him, pulling on his limp dick gently until she felt it twitching, coming alive like a fledgling sparrow finding its wings for the first time. Jason had been quite content to allow this to happen, and without a word between them she brought him to a full erection before tossing him off vigorously to another superb climax. This resulted in Jason shooting his cum all over the low-level cistern and upturned toilet seat, the last watery dregs of which settled around her fingers. She could not resist putting them to her mouth and licking them clean of the warm, sticky, slightly soapy-tasting goo. It was not at all unpleasant. So agreeable was this discovery that she planned to capture all of Jason's sperm in a condom the very next time she gave him a wank and then when she was alone, empty the thing into her mouth and guzzle it all to see what it was like to swallow a decent whack of cum. This happened on Sunday evening while they were watching Midsomer Murders on the TV, seated together on the sofa. His mother had already changed into her nightclothes. To retain a degree of modesty and decency when in the presence of his mother, Jason would often sit with a tee-shirt or something draped over his private parts. But the sudden tenting of the men's handkerchief that this time protected his modesty caught Mrs Jackson's eye and without making an issue of it she reached over and began fondling her son through the cotton material. "Are you okay?" she said. "Will you do it for me, Mum? "If you like. Are you up for it then?" "Mum, I'm fucking aching for it. Can't you tell?" "All right, I'll do it here. But I'm going to use a condom on you this time." "Why? I thought you liked seeing the spunk fly?" "I do... but I don't want a mess on the furniture, it's not even paid for yet." She fetched her handbag, sat back down and rummaged around inside. She brought out a packet of three, took one out and split the foil with her teeth. She removed it from the foil, squeezed the air out of the teat, rolled it down over her son's swollen cock and smoothed out the creases. This was a new sensation. Carol loved the slick, tight feeling of the condom's gossamer skin around Jason's dick. And for him, his mother's hand felt wonderfully warm and sensual wrapped around the slick rubber sheath. There seemed something more risqué, perhaps even a little obscene about the introduction of a condom to their sex games. And this heightened the sexual tension and anticipation between them. She rubbed moisturiser into her hands and began playing with him. "How does it feel, lover boy?" "Great... absolutely fucking gorgeous, mother." "Brings a new feel to it, doesn't it?" "Yeah, and I thought it would spoil the fun. Like it would be like having a bath with my boots on." "But I can tell you love it, don't you? Now your mummy can watch all your lovely creamy cum collect in the end. What a thrill for her. Tell me, darling... if I wasn't your mum, would you find me attractive? I mean, if you'd never seen me before would you fancy me?" "How can I answer that?" "It's hypothetical. If you saw me walking down the street and you had never seen be before, would you like what you saw?" "Course!" "What..? Fancy me?" "Yeah, probably... Look, Mum, can you concentrate on what you're doing and stop playing twenty questions?" "Sorry, darling... I just wanted to know how you felt." "I love you, Mum... and I also think you're very sexy. So do a lot of my mates. Now please..." "You never let on before." "You've never asked. Oh, fucking Jesus, Mother... that is so good what you're doing now." Carol was using both her hands, squeezing the slippery rubber cock through her palms as if it was a bar of soap. "Come on, my lovely boy... spunk for Mummy... give me lots and lots of cream..." And even before Carol had completed her playfully goading sentence, Jason felt his insides tighten, like an arrow being drawn back in the bow, then the release and the loosening of the arrow. "Woo, woo, woo! Oh yes, Jay, look at that what a lovely load you're making." The familiar melting away from his guts seemed to last an eternity, as Carol watched the end of the condom filling with her son's hot spunk. "My God, Jay, you're ballooning the end." "Oh, Mother... you are something else." When it was finally over, Carol kissed her son's forehead, carefully removed the condom, wrapped it in a tissue and wiped his sopping prick. She left him to himself and went to the bathroom and sat down on the loo. She unravelled the condom from the tissue and studied the opaque, slimy, floppy tube. It was still warm and the bubbly contents swilled around inside as she tipped it end to end. She sniffed at the open end where an acrid mixture of ammonia and rubber greeted her nostrils. She began masturbating while continuing to inhale the potent aroma. She dipped the tip of her tongue in now and again as she became bolder and more excited by her frigging and soon the moment was upon her, threatening to fold her body in half. But she maintained her upright sitting attitude, tossed her head back and tipped the entire contents of the used condom into her mouth as her own liquid flowed between her legs and soaked her hand. She swilled the ejaculate around her mouth, savouring and acclimatising to the viscous soapy taste that dominated her taste buds. With one great gulp, accompanied by a shudder, she swallowed it all down, leaving a strange burning sensation at the back of her throat. On Wednesday the news that Jason's casts were to remain on for another week was greeted with mixed feelings. Jason was visibly deflated, but his mother reflected on at least one more week of illicit fun. On Friday night Carol went out with some friends from work. She had been invited along to a hen night by some friends from work. A workmate was getting married in a week's time. At first she wasn't sure about going, thinking that it was a little unfair on Jason to be left again after being alone all afternoon. But she had been talked into it by Jody and Karen and although Jason was a bit grumpy about her going, he reluctantly agreed that he'd be okay for a few more hours. It was quite a relief for Carol to get out with the girls and she made the most of it, having quite a lot to drink and having a nice long feel of the male stripper's enormous cock. When she got back home she was a little worse for wear, but happy and giggly. Unfortunately she found Jason in a bad mood and wallowing in self-pity. "What fucking time do call this?" he said. His face was like thunder. His mood was totally unexpected. She glanced at her watch, hoping to make light and diffuse the situation. "Well, my watch says a quarter past twelve. How about yours, Rambo?" There was a slight slur to her words which seemed to anger Jason even more. "And just what the fuck am I expected to do? I can't do nothing. I can't get undressed, make a drink, I can't piss and I got no fucking arms and you're out swanning it up all over the fucking place." Carol felt her good mood rapidly disappearing. "Hey, what's the matter with you? I'm not that late. Surely you don't begrudge me a night out. It's the first time I've been out socially in three weeks." "And that's supposed to make it all right, is it? That's supposed to make it all better?" "Look Jason, I have one bloody night out and you give me a hard time. All the things I've had to do for you, surely I'm entitled to some slack." "I'm pissed off with it all. I'm a fucking prisoner, I can't do anything! And you're out getting cocked by some bloke!" "I beg your pardon?" "You heard... You're a fucking slag. Look what you've done to me." "What are you talking about?" "You act like an old prossy, tossing me off. Look at the state I'm in. I don't know whether I'm coming or going. You've fucking ruined me. I'll never be the same again..." "You selfish pig, Jason. Do you only ever think about yourself?" "Me? Selfish? Come off it, Mum. I feel like crap and you're out enjoying yourself." "Oh stop feeling sorry for yourself..." And then Carol saw the tears running down her son's face. She went to him and put her arms around him. "Hey look... Come on, I'm sorry. I'm here now aren't I? I know you've been through a terrible time, but next week you'll be free again. You can start getting back to normal." She pressed her son's head against her breast. "I'm sorry if you thought I was out a bit late tonight." "I was just worried, Mum... that's all." "Worried? About me? That's very chivalrous of you." "Don't leave me like that again." "Shh, I'll make you a drink in a moment, and then I'll get you ready for bed." "Do it for me, Mum." "Sorry?" "You know... Give me one before bedtime. I'll go fucking mental if you don't." And Mrs Jackson kneeled between her son's legs and took the newspaper away that was covering his huge erection. His cock was indeed in need of urgent attention. She grasped it in both hands, began to caress it, and then thought what the hell. She looked at Jason who was looking right back at her. "I expect it's been a while since you last had a blow job, son? Not since you were going with Kim." "She never gave me a blow job, Mum. To be honest, incredible as it seems, I've never had one before." "Are you serious? I thought all young girls did it these days." "I've never met any." "You poor thing. Well... as a way of making things up to you. I'm going to give you a very special treat." And with that, Jason watched his mother take his cock into her mouth. He felt her velvet tongue sliding along the length of it and watched her head move against his groin. He couldn't quite believe it. He must be dreaming... his own mother sucking him off. He closed his eyes, and then opened them almost immediately to make sure it wasn't a dream. But it was real. Her head began to work and bob up and down on his prick. Occasionally, she would feed it into her mouth with her hands and once she made herself gag until she got the trajectory at a comfortable angle. Then the powerful sucking of a woman who knew what she was doing, taking the thick young cock all the way down, sliding her lips and tongue up and down the slippery shaft as if it was a lollipop. And then she was licking his balls, taking them into her mouth in turn, from one to the other, and finally both together. The feeling was exquisite and he could feel the sap rising. She rested from the sucking, getting her breath back, but continued to manipulate him with her slender hands. But soon she was on him again, this time giving it some meaning. Jason began to worry with his climax fast approaching, about coming in his mother's mouth. Should he warn her about coming, so that she would have time to get clear? Or should he just let it happen? "Oh, Mother... I'm going to cum... watch out... Ugghh..! Agghhh..." But her head stayed put, her mouth continuing to suck even as his stuff poured forth." "Mmm... slurp... suck..! Give it all up for Mummy, Jay. Your cum is so delicious. I want it all." Jason felt like his whole life was being sucked from his balls. He watched his mother's throat working to get the whole load down. He thought she'd never release him, but finally she came up for air, licking her lips for any errant drops of cum. Then she laid her head in his lap and drifted off to sleep. "I love you, Mum," he said, and soon he too had fallen asleep. (...continued in Chapter Five -- Jason's Nightmare...) A Mother's Helping Hand Ch. 05 Chapter Five Jason's Nightmare Saturday afternoon Mrs Jackson had popped out to do a little shopping. As usual the television had been left on for Jason. There was a cricket match on, but the pace was slow with the batting team holding out for a dull draw. He reflected on the previous evening, a strange mix of sweet-and-sour. Why had he been so awful to his mother, begrudging her a night out and then coming home late? She had been right, though. He had to admit that much. She did deserve a break, for the unremitting care she had given him since his motorcycle accident. Was he feeling sorry for himself because of his imprisonment, his uselessness and his utter wretchedness? Or was there another reason at the heart of his outburst? Was it possible that he was jealous that his lover had left him to go and enjoy herself with other men? Was he becoming possessive, and perhaps even obsessive about his mother? And then there was that incredible blow-job she had given him last night, amazingly his first ever. He began to wonder if it had really happened. Nothing had been said about the previous evening during the morning, and what ever hurtful things Jason had said, his mother appeared to have forgiven him. Her mood had been light and breezy. There even seemed to be an extra spring in her step. Jason dozed off long before stumps were drawn. Among the many fragmented dreams that accompanied his deep sleep that afternoon, there was one that stood out by way of its completeness and vividness. He dreamed he was back in hospital. He had been brought in because his abdominal pains were getting worse and giving grave cause for concern. The pretty nurse who had attended him after his accident was at his bedside again. She was the epitome of health and cleanliness in her freshly starched uniform and black pantyhose which were seamed down the backs of her legs. Her hands were sensitive, sanitised and efficient, preparing things in an orderly manner. He watched her move around the bed arranging various items that were to be used on him -- thermometer, a kidney bowl, urine bottle, bedpan, a catheter arrangement, and an enema kit. He tried to catch her eye, but she ignored him, preferring to remain aloof, detached and professional. She started preparing a wash bowl with flannel and towel on a chair. As she bent over to attend to this her skirt lifted showing the backs of her legs just above the knee. Jason's cock responded in the time-honoured tradition. "I thought you were going to take off my casts," he said. "Oh no... It will be weeks before we can consider that." She turned around and for the first time looked at him and smiled. Her eyes were big and brown in her petite, pale face. They were the kind that you could easily lose yourself in and looked like they might at any time devour you. Her name tag announced her as "SRN Sandra Wilkins." "I have to get you ready for the doctor's examination," she said. "I need to get you washed, but first I want you to pee for me." "I don't need to go right now." "Everyone can pee a little," she said, her eyes mocking him. "I need a sample of your urine. And then you will have to try and do a poo for me." Jason felt his face colouring. "Oh no, is that really necessary? I mean, what if I can't?" "No such word as can't, Mr Jackson." It seemed strange a young nurse, no older than him, should refer to him as "Mr". "The doctor will need to perform a rectal examination on you. It will therefore be necessary to evacuate your bowels beforehand." "What happens if I can't go... to poo... or even pee?" "Don't worry, Mr Jackson. We have ways of persuading you to provide us with what we want. But I'm sure we won't have to resort to extreme measures to get your kind cooperation. You're going to be a good boy for me and give me what I want, aren't you? It will be easier for you if you do." She began fiddling with the metal framework that the catheter device was attached to, turning little wheels, knobs and levers to adjust the stand to a convenient angle and height. The sight of the contraption, particularly the invasive looking flexible tube, seemed to threaten him with the idea that it could be used as a form of punishment as well as a medical aid if he didn't do as he was told. Is that what she meant by 'persuading'? If only he could provide a sample naturally. But now his body was as tight as a drum skin and would not give an inch. And a rectal examination..? What was that all about? Were they going to shove a camera up his arse or something..? So that the entire world and his dog could have a look..? The mere thought of this invasion of his most private part, made him clam up completely. There wouldn't be a laxative in the world that could relieve him. His abdominal pain was now acute. He couldn't bear the thought of the pretty nurse seeing all his bits and pieces and then watching him pee and poo. He would be completely humiliated, left without a shred of dignity. Jason was dressed in a white cotton gown of the type worn when a person is taken down to the operating theatre. He was lying on the bed, on top of the sheets. The nurse raised the gown to expose his genitals. Jason now sported a burgeoning and painful erection which pulled the skin of his scrotum taut around the balls, so that they were outlined like a pair of walnuts. He closed his eyes, and bit down hard on his lip, shamed by the betrayal of his cock's desire. Now she would know his true feelings for her. He wanted the floor to open up and devour him. He could feel the nurse's hands on it now, moving, fingering and manipulating him, attempting to get the wilful blood-filled beast into the bottle neck. "Oh dear... Mr Percy Penis is being a very naughty boy today. Come on, Mr Percy... you must do better than this." She flicked the bulbous purple head with her fingers about half-a-dozen times in an attempt to cool its ardour. But this only had the effect of making him cry out in pain and stiffening his cock even more. But somehow, using a bit of brute force and some KY jelly, Sandra managed to engage the swollen knob-end in the bottle neck. The bottle of course had to be held upside down to accommodate him, causing the young nurse to laugh out loud at the absurdity of the situation. "Come on, Mr Jackson, be a good, clever boy for me and give me some pee-pee. Do it for Sandra, won't you... please?" But Jason was locked solid by his erection. "I can't nurse, I just can't!" "If you don't, Sister will use the catheter on you." "No, please don't let her! I couldn't stand it." "Then pee for me now. This is your last chance. I'm going to count to ten, and if by then you have still denied me, I'll have to leave you to Sister. You won't like it - she can be quite heavy handed sometimes." But try as he may, Jason could not start the water flowing. "You are being extremely obstinate, so we shall see, shan't we? I know exactly how we will deal with this disobedience. In a moment I will call for Sister and she will not be so lenient with you. She will apply a much firmer hand and make you do as we ask." Sandra put the urine bottle aside and arranged the bedpan under Jason's bottom. "Now let's see how you are at number twos. Please don't disappoint me this time. I'm beginning to lose patience with you, young man!" But this proved futile too. Jason could produce nothing other than one loud fart which echoed around the ceiling and did little to relieve his inner tension. "I'm sorry, nurse, I didn't mean to..." "Well, if the best you can do is to embarrass us both with a rude noise... dear-oh-dear... it's an enema for you as well as the catheter, young man...that will sort you out good and proper. "Now, I have to take your temperature, and for that I will need your feet in the stirrups." And for the first time Jason noticed the contraption that was dangling from the ceiling -- a pair of shiny metal hoops were attached to thick white cords that ran over pulley wheels. Sandra cranked a handle that winched the stirrups down to bed level, secured Jason's feet in the hoops and wound them back up again. This had the effect of not only raising his legs, but drawing them apart too. Sandra continued to wind until Jason legs were well spread and his arse was raised off the bed. Then he watched Sandra wind the crank back again to lower him slightly, so that his main body weight was supported on the upper part of his buttocks, but the elevation of his pelvis was such that his arsehole remained accessible and convenient for inspection. Sandra sterilised the thermometer, shook it a couple of times, and said: "Open wide, Mr Jackson." And Jason responded by opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue. "Not that way, silly!" And she proceeded to open the slitty mouth of Jason's cock with the thermometer by teasing the little pink slit with the mercury end. "Come on, open up for Sandra." "No! You can't. Ouch! You can't put it in there for God's sake!" "Oh can't I? Well, let's see shall we? Now just relax." And Sandra continued to prod, more insistently now, at the narrow opening to Jason's cock. She moved the tip in about half a centimetre, and worked it in a circular motion, gently but firmly persuading it to give way. "Aggh!" Jason's legs kicked in the stirrups, but his movement was restricted. "That really hurts." "Oh don't be such a cry baby!" Jason reached out with phantom arms to push the nurse away. But of course, that was impossible, his real arms stayed imprisoned by the casts. He could only watch helplessly at her dibbing his cock with the thermometer end. With each prod, so Jason's whole body jerked with the lances of pain. He tried to be brave. As she withdrew the thermometer she noticed a silver thread of something clinging to the tip as she brought it away. She knew exactly what this was. "In a moment the thermometer will slip in easily. You're oozing, which is just as well for you because I forgot to use the KY." Sandra entwined the string of pre-cum around the thermometer, and then dipped the tip into the seeping tiny red slit to scoop some more lubrication before repeating the action. "There we are... all nice and slippery and ready for penetration," she said, apparently now enjoying the young man's distress. She then very carefully inserted the thermometer to about two centimetres and paused, supporting it between her forefinger and thumb for a moment "Breathe deeply, Mr Jackson... just a little bit more to go and it will be all over and done with... before you know it." The strange thing was, once initial penetration had been achieved, it barely hurt at all, in fact it was a rather pleasant sensation having his penis penetrated by a foreign body and the nurse was able to slide the thermometer to about halfway in without any more fuss from Jason. At this point she left it sticking out like a flagpole from the tiny mouth of Jason's cock. "There, I'll leave you like that for a moment while I fetch Sister Roberts." Jason looked helplessly at his predicament, the thermometer projecting from his cock quite hideously. The nurse seemed to be gone some time. The funny thing was, each time Jason looked afresh at the thermometer, the less of it there seemed to be protruding. Or was he imagining it? Amazingly, he still had one hell of an erection, probably his best ever -- an absolute stonker! The feeling of being penetrated like this was far more pleasant than he would have thought, even stimulating. Now when he looked, it seemed there was only about one centimetre peeping out. Was it working its way into his body like it had a mind and a power of its own? He attempted to call out to the nurse, but no sound came. Fearing the worst, he tried to call out again. But it was as if he'd been struck dumb by some phantom force. And then suddenly, as if to answer his mute call, Sister Roberts, a big no-frills, muscular middle-aged lady with huge breasts barged through the double swing doors, followed by the sweet little nurse. "Now what's all this nonsense about not going to the toilet..?" The Sister stopped suddenly, looking puzzled. Sandra stumbled into the back of her. "I thought you said you were taking the patient's temperature, nurse?" "I am. Why..?" and then she too saw the cause of the sister's consternation. "Well, either the thermometer has fallen out somewhere, or got lost inside him. You should have stayed with the patient and kept your eye on him, Nurse Wilkins." And when Jason also saw the cause of the ladies' concern, he was mortified. "Where the hell's it gone?" "Don't panic, Mr Jackson. It's probably just slipped in under its own weight. It sometimes happens when a patient becomes aroused by the insertion and then secretes, thus allowing deeper than normal penetration. You must be very slick for that to happen. I'll retrieve it right away." The sister then stepped towards Jason and grasped his throbbing dick with her strong hands. She fumbled around under his shaft and located the slim glass tube nestling in Jason's urethra. It had slipped down a good way. "Can you get it out?" said Jason, looking really worried by now. "I should think so, but you must keep nice and hard for me. Try and relax the rest of your body at the same time." Jason tried his best to oblige, and prayed for a favourable outcome. By pressing her thumbs alternately behind the end of the thermometer, the sister managed to work the instrument back up the urethral duct and out of Jason's cock in less than thirty seconds. "There we are... all better. I'm bound to say... you have a magnificent prick, young man!" The thermometer came away with a big loop of pre-cum linking it to Jason's throbbing dick, glistening like a fine silver thread in the bright overhead arc-light. In fact the sensation of it coming back out nearly caused him to cum for real. He just managed to avert an embarrassing disaster by thinking of something else. It was a close call. He felt very on the edge. "My word, Mr Jackson. You appear to have rather enjoyed your little adventure." She broke the thread of secretion and put on her glasses to read the scale. "Just as I thought - this is one hot cock! Nurse Wilkins..? Prepare for catheterization and enema, please." Sandra sterilised both catheter and enema tube, and filled the enema bottle with warm soapy water. "Thank you, nurse. Now stand by to subdue the patient while I insert the catheter. Use the gas and air if it helps." Sandra stood by with the Entonox, covering Jason's mouth every time the catheter tube caused him discomfort during its inward journey. He would become agitated, writhing and squirming until Sandra calmed him with the 'gas-and-air'. "Breathe, Mr Jackson... Breathe!" "Now watch for the urine, nurse, said Sister, "as I think we're almost into the bladder. Just have to pop through the urethral sphincter and... yes... that's got it... here it comes, lovely deep yellow... Mmm, a strong concentrate. That will take some analysing. There we are... good! That's got it all... but I'll just leave it in place a moment while I perform the enema." And continuing her no-nonsense approach she lubricated the enema tube with KY and then greased Jason's arsehole. The clear plastic tube went smoothly and deeply into his rectum. She then filled him with the warm water and flushed out his bowels into the bedpan. "There we are, Mr Jackson... all done." Just then Jason's GP, Dr Phillips, appeared through the double doors of the ward. "Hello Doctor Phillips," said Sister Roberts. "Mr Jackson is nearly ready for you. "Remove catheter and enema please Nurse Wilkins." "How are you, Mr Jackson?" said the doctor. But Jason could still not speak. "Very well," said Dr Phillips. "I will perform rectal examination first. Prepare the gloves for me Nurse Wilkins." The nurse opened a new sealed pack of latex gloves, pre-powdered inside, and carefully slid them onto the doctor's hands. "Thank you nurse, and will you apply KY to my right hand, and also to the patient's posterior." The doctor pulled up a chair adjacent to Jason's bottom. "Can you shine a light on the patient's anus, please nurse?" Sandra fetched a small mag-light torch from the bedside cabinet and did so. "Mmm, very good... very good indeed. Nice and clean. Now, Sister if you watch from the other side... and nurse... if you sit next to me on my left, you can both see what's going on." The doctor began by inserting one finger into Jason's rectum and easing the muscular ring. Then he inserted another, and began making gentle, twisting movements, back and forth, to gradually stretch the sphincter. Then he pushed his two fingers in up to the top knuckle and out... and then in again. He worked his fingers up and down like a slow-moving piston until he felt the tense sphincter relax and become more receptive. "Now prepare to be amazed, Nurse Wilkins. Watch and learn." And the doctor proceeded to make his long sensitive fingers into one complete conical shape before inserting them slowly and steadily into the hole until his whole hand was submerged inside Jason's bottom. Then he twisted it and angled his fingers downward until he could feel the soft walnut shape of Jason's prostate. There were a lot of rude sounds of air escaping. Sandra's mouth fell open as she marvelled at the doctor's skill. How could a whole hand go into a bottom as easily as that? "Perfect, nothing wrong here. Now I'm going to massage the prostate gland. With a bit of luck, we should all be able to witness the beneficial effect that this has on the patient." Jason became aware of a very pleasant sensation indeed. It was as if he was being masturbated from the inside. His eyes began to roll and his body responded agreeably. "You see how he enjoys this. I am now stimulating him. In fact..." And here the doctor paused to put his left hand on Nurse Wilkins' knee. He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "I could make him orgasm by anal stimulation alone, if I wanted to." "That's just incredible!" said Sandra, all agog. "Would you like to see the patient ejaculate, Nurse Wilkins... Mmm?" "I-" "Ahem," interrupted Sister Roberts. "Hadn't we better get on with what needs to be done? There's another patient I'm due to see in fifteen minutes" "Yes, you're probably right, Sister. Mr Jackson's back passage is A1 anyway. That was a most enjoyable exploration. But I think we still need a semen sample to be absolutely sure of the patient's overall condition and health." The doctor withdrew his hand from Jason's back passage with a wet sucking noise. He binned the gloves. "How are we to get that?" said the sister. "Obviously, Mr Jackson can't see to himself in his present condition." "One of us will have to do it for him," replied the doctor. "Needs must... needs must! We will draw lots." He indicated a box of straws on the bedside locker. "We'll use those... perfect!" "I'll make them different lengths," said Nurse Wilkins, helpfully. "And the one who draws the shortest straw gets to do it?" said Sister. "Or the longest," said the doctor. "That might be more appropriate." In the end it was decided that whoever drew the longest straw would be the person to do the deed. By some strange coincidence, the doctor was the one left with the longest. "Right, let's not waste any more time. Sister..? Grease Mr Jackson's penis for me. Nurse Wilkins..? You will stand by with the kidney bowl. I'll soon have the young chap spurting for us." Hearing all this going on about him, Jason could only lie in silence and await his fate. He tried to wriggle free, but without the use of his arms and his legs rendered useless by the stirrups, he was their prisoner and as a consequence - at their complete and utter mercy. He realised now that their intention all along had been to milk him for his sperm. They were not satisfied with thoroughly humiliating him, draining him of piss and shit. They now wanted his semen too! A Mother's Helping Hand Ch. 05 "We'll only send off a small sample," said the doctor. "The rest we can sell on the internet. A healthy young man of eighteen -- there'll be no shortage of prospective women buyers. We should get a decent price." The doctor began caressing Jason's cock, which by now had lost some of its sparkle under the cold light of discussion. But the doctor's practiced hands soon had it on parade again, much to Jason's shame. Nurse Wilkins stood by with a towel and kidney bowl and Sister Roberts wiped the beads of sweat that were beginning to form on Jason's brow. And soon the doctor's hand was working smoothly up and down the full slippery length of Jason's pride-and-joy, gradually increasing the tempo. "Go on, doctor... faster! Make him cum," said Sandra, the hard nipples of her pert breasts beginning to point through the fabric of her uniform. "Milk him dry, Doctor," said the sister, her voice suddenly becoming low and threatening. "Make him pay his dues. I've heard he's a mummy's boy and we know just how to treat mummy's boys, don't we?" "Come on doctor," said Nurse Wilkins, her dark brown eyes almost black with lust. "Make him fill the bowl for me!" Sister Roberts whispered in Jason's ear: "I bet you get Mummy to toss you off sometimes." Jason's body twisted in the agonies of shame. The doctor was going to make him cum, that was certain. He intended to disgrace him in front of the ladies. He could not escape. He wanted to cry out: "Mum, please don't let a man make me cum... I'll never live it down... please help me..." "I know what you are," whispered Sister Roberts. "You're a pathetic little man who wants to get back up the same hole that delivered him into the world. Go on, admit it... you're a motherfucker, aren't you Mr Roberts!" And then shouting: "DRAIN HIM DOCTOR, DON'T LEAVE ANY SPERM AT ALL FOR HIS MOTHER. WE MUST HAVE EVERY DROP!" "Help me, Mum..! Please..! Stop them doing this to me... Save me... save...me..." (...continued in Chapter Six -- Mothers, Sons and Lovers...) A Mother's Helping Hand Ch. 06 Chapter Six: Mothers, Sons and Lovers In the end, Jason Jackson's arms remained in plaster for a further two weeks, a total of six altogether. The news of their removal was greeted by an enormous sigh of relief and then elation for the young man. But the elation and relief was immediately replaced by a sense of dismay and disbelief, because when the casts were actually taken off Jason was shocked to see his once muscular and tanned arms looking a pale washed-out yellow, shrivelled and skinny. Where had his lovely toned biceps gone? It was an ugly and miserable spectacle, and after the elation of his new-found freedom, he became resentful and tearful, almost suicidal. "Yes, I know, it's sometimes a shock when the plasters are first taken off," said the nurse, sensing Jason's sudden change of mood. "You expect everything to be as before... and as we can see..." She was rubbing the feeling back into his arms. "It will be a little while yet before you get the strength and muscle tone back. You'll need to exercise your arms every day, but don't rush things. At first you'll be surprised how weak they feel, in fact they won't feel like your arms at all for the first couple of days. But don't worry... they'll soon be as good as new again." The nurse went over to a printer next to the PC on her desk. "I've run off a course of exercises for you. If you follow these sensibly, you shouldn't have any problems getting back to normal. Just don't think you can start right back doing all the things you were able to do before the accident... all right? And I shall want to see you in a week's time." Mrs Jackson drove her son home. He was quiet in the car. She tried to make conversation and was puzzled by his mood, but sensed his disappointment and decided it best to just drive and keep to herself. "My fucking arms look like fucking shit, Mum!" he said at last, as they turned into their home street. "Oh, you are speaking to me, then?" "And they're still useless." "What do you mean, useless?" "What do you think I mean? Useless is fucking useless, isn't it?" "What are you saying then..? That I've still got to assist you? Wank you off still?" Carol stifled a grin. Instantly, she bit her tongue and regretted her flippancy. But Jason had already begun to laugh and suddenly they were laughing together like it was all a big joke, and in a way, it was. At least the suffocating tension had been broken. Carol stopped the car outside the house and they got out. Jason's dark mood seemed to have lightened and his mother breathed a little easier. "I mean, have a look, Mum... Don't they just look fucking awful? I've got the arms of a ninety-year-old now." He was flexing them, trying to raise them up as they walked up the garden path, but the nurse had been right... they did feel like they didn't belong to him. They hurt like hell and there was no strength in them. "I mean, for ages I haven't been able to do sod-all with them. And now..." "You still can't do sod-all, right?" His mother smiled. "But there is an upside, Jay..." "Yeah, what would that be then, Mum?" Carol was putting the key in the door, turning the lock. They went inside and she closed the door behind them. She turned to face him and put her arms around his neck. "I'll still have to see to you for a while then, won't I? Just till you get your strength back." "I suppose you will, Mother." "Now give Mummy a big mushy kiss. It's so nice to have you back to normal." "Hardly normal, Mum." "Well, as long as you're still too weak to push me away, I don't care. Give me a kiss." And suddenly his mother's lips were upon his in an embrace like they had never shared before. It seemed no natural to be doing so. Jason could only manage to put his arms around her waist as she continued to hold him to her. He felt her breasts pressing into his midriff as she tightened her hold on him. And then something happened that almost made him recoil in surprise, yet wasn't totally unexpected. Her tongue slid between his lips, thrusting forcefully between his teeth and insinuated itself in his mouth. Jason's stomach did a flip-flop, his mother's tongue sliding and swirling against his own. After all the things that had happened between them – the helping with his toilet, the tossing-off, the fantastic blow job – somehow this one act, a special kiss with his mother, seemed to surpass everything that had gone before. It was far more daring, exciting and erotic by its nature of closeness and intimacy, than even the sexual acts had been. It was as if a significant step forward had taken place in their relationship, a shift in emphasis and status, a symbolic commitment of true love between mother and son. And as he yielded and reciprocated his mother's kisses, so the silent tears of emotion came to his eyes and his body began to tremble. "Come on. We should both be happy," she said, finally releasing him and drawing back so she could focus on his face. She took her arms from around his neck and wiped away, first his tears, then the smear of lipstick from his mouth. Then she held on to the strangely soft flesh of his forearms and smiled lovingly into his liquid eyes. "So why don't I make us a nice cup of tea? I've got some chocolate digestive biscuits too... your favourite. Tonight we'll celebrate not only your freedom, but ours too. We'll get pissed together with a bottle of wine and some beers. What do you say, tiger?" "I reckon that'll be just fucking great, Mother." They embraced again and Carol backed her son up against the front door. She felt around Jason's bulging crotch with a hunger and urgency that surprised even them. Mrs Jackson slid her son's zip down in one smooth movement and freed his cock, already semi-erect with the turning tide of hot blood. She kissed him tenderly before saying. "I think we both know where this is leading, Jay... and speaking for myself... I cannot fight it anymore." And she slid down his body until she was on her knees and eye-to-eye with his bobbing prick. She looked up into his face, meeting his brown eyes that were almost black with lust. "I'm going to give you such a blow job, young man." "Oh fuck, Mother! Suck me off hard, you little tart. I love you." "I love you too, darling." And she brought him to a superbly intense climax inside 60 seconds which filled her mouth with her son's lovely cum. Jason's legs buckled and he slid down against the front door until he too was on his knees and face to face with his mother. And together they shared a champagne kiss, his mother transferring half the load to Jason's mouth so that he could enjoy the taste also. Temporarily exhausted, Jason slumped forward and his mother cradled his head against her warm, aching bosom and ran her fingers through his sweat-tousled hair. "Tonight, my rutty boy," she said after a moment. "You are going to fuck me. It's high time you and I became properly acquainted!" *** That night, in front of the telly, Jason and his mother snuggled up on the sofa. Carol had just started on her second bottle of wine. Jason was on his fifth bottle of mini-bud that he was drinking through two straws. It was more comfortable that way. They were watching Mamma Mia on DVD. Jason was in his jim-jams, black shorts and grey tee-shirt because he felt more comfortable than being in jeans and underpants. His mother had elected to wear a very sexy red tartan skirt that left little to the imagination. Up top she had on a skimpy white sweater which showed the shape of her superb breasts beautifully. A pair of white ankle-socks and white trainers gave her a nice 'innocent-yet-tarty' look. They were both feeling nice and comfortable, and pleasantly sozzled. Carol put her drink on the side and took Jason's bud from him and put that on the side also. She held his right hand between hers and caressed it, lovingly as well as maternally. She was sitting on his left and lolled against his shoulder as a feeling of light-headedness kicked in. "So what's it like getting sucked off by your mother?" Jason laughed at her boldness. "It's really hot, Mum. You're just fantastic, and I still can't believe it." "You do fancy me, don't you, Jay?" "Course, yeah. You're really great, Mum. You give me a hard-on every time you're near me." "Do I really?" "Yeah, straight up! All my mates call you a MILF, a scrummy-mummy. And I love your smell, Mum." "What, my perfume?" "Yeah... that too." "What do you mean, that too?" "Well, I like your other smells too." "Do you?" "Yeah, you know... your natural scent?" Carol laughed. "Natural scent? What would that be then?" "Well, you know... your... natural smell." "Well, come on then, tell me." "I am telling you." "What do I smell of then?" "I can't explain it. Just nice smells. I used to sniff your knickers when I was at school." Jason blushed. "What... in the classroom, you mean?" "No, don't be daft. I mean when I was that age." "What..? You mean you used to take them out of my drawer, you naughty boy?" "Sometimes, yeah. But mostly out of the wash-basket. The ones you'd been wearing that day." "You filthy pig." "Oh, don't say that, Mum?" "Well what am I supposed to say? Did they look nice on you?" Carol laughed, and put Jason's hand halfway up the inside of her thigh, but still below her hemline. He looked at their hands, flat together, against her bare tanned leg. "I didn't wear them." "I bet you did." "I didn't... well, maybe once or twice." Jason giggled. "Just to get the feel, you know." "Yeah, see? I knew it. I used to suspect it at the time, but I never said anything. What else did you do?" "I just used to sniff them." "What, put them over your head?" "No, just smell them, you know... the gusset." "Ooh-er!" Carol laughed. "It was lovely, Mum. It used make me get a real hard-on." "You didn't wank into them too, did you?" "Sometimes." "Err! What a mucky little pup you were." "Still am, Mum." Carol was encouraging her son's hand to move higher up her leg. She felt confident now that when she took her hand away, Jason's would remain to explore her further. She was right. "Would you like to smell them again? The ones I've got on?" "What, you mean right now?" "When you're ready. Why not? Bring back some nice memories for you." "Oh Mum, I'd really love to. That would be such a turn-on. By the way, what does my cum taste like?" "You should know. I let you have a taste... remember?" "I don't know how you can swallow all that stuff." "I didn't. You had half." "Oh yeah, that's what it was. I thought your kiss tasted kind of funny." Jason's hand was now under his mother's tartan skirt, almost to the top of her thigh. Her skin felt wonderfully soft and pliant. He noticed how, the higher his hand went up her skirt, the more humid the atmosphere became. It was as if his hand was advancing towards a seething pit of serpents. "I had a really weird dream the other day, Mum?" "What about?" "It was a fucking nightmare, I tell you. I couldn't mention it at the time. I dreamed I was back in hospital and... well, to cut a long story short, a doctor and two nurses were milking me for my sperm. I remember the big old nurse saying that they would make sure there was none left for my mother." "Well, I think we can prove her wrong, can't we?" He was suddenly aware that his hand now lay almost on her cunt and he felt strangely self-conscious about it, like he had suddenly realised how far he'd come and there was fear and doubt in his mind. There had been a few times with girls his own age where he'd got this far only for them to stop him, slapping his wrists, admonishing and belittling him, not allowing him to venture further. He would feel frustrated and angry and resent them. Nature was cruel like that. Hold the carrot out and then snatch it away; that was her game in life. For a moment he feared history may repeat itself. But this was his mother, a fully mature woman in the best and most beautiful years of her life, not some immature floozy with designs on getting a ring on her finger in exchange for a bunk-up. She would not thwart or humiliate him. What could be better than sex with your own mother, especially one as attractive as his? And you didn't really have to worry about getting a mum pregnant either. A mum could take care of herself; a mum would know all the little wrinkles and dodges to keep her out of trouble. A mum knows best, and especially what's best for her son. Needs must, Mrs Jackson. A mother's intuition. It always comes to the fore in times of adversity. His hand was now spread across his mother's warm crotch. His heart beat like a tom-tom. She made no attempt to stop him. She just sort of moaned inwardly and lolled heavily against him. She breathed into his ear: "I'd like you to be really naughty with Mummy, Jay." "In what way?" "I'd like you to... I'd like you to lick me off, you bad, rude boy." She giggled. "Would you like to please Mummy that way? You can have a nice sniff of my panties first to get you in the mood." Jason's heart almost skipped a beat in astonishment. Had his mother actually said what he thought he'd heard her say? Her skirt had risen enough to show a flash of her pure white cotton knickers, erotic in their simplicity, provocative in their cleanliness and beckoning from the darkness within like a temptress in the shadows. He pressed the light material against her, feeling the springiness of her lush bush beneath. Here was his mistress, his nemesis, the thing that brought him into the world and would now humble him into submission, consume him and quite possibly consign him forever to hell. Carol positioned herself so that her legs were astride him and she was lying back on the arm of the sofa. Jason continued to run his fingers across her warm pantied crotch, probing gently into the soft folds and crevices, familiarising himself with the geography and physiology of his mother's sacred domain. Her skirt was now up around her waist, the dark shadowed 'V' of her pubis visible through the brilliant white cotton. Her crotch was damp, humid like the atmosphere of a glasshouse. A strong scent wafted from her, a reek of expectation and excitement that signalled her desire, the desire to be possessed by her own flesh and blood. Jason felt his mother's hands on the back of his head, urging him towards her. For a moment the scent of her reminded him of those days when he'd held her soiled panties to his nose and devoured his mother's essence. But this scent was now, today, it was real, alive and cloying, drawing him down so that now his nose rested on her cunt. He breathed her in deeply, allowing her odour to permeate his being. He nuzzled her with the tip of his nose and felt her legs flex in response. He noticed that depending on where he touched her, there was a variation in responses that acted like a road map for him. Her smell was warm and divine, a musky, talcy, vaguely fishy essence that made his cock like throbbing rock. Between his mouth and nose and his mother's cunt, there was only a millimetre of cotton fabric. It would only now be a matter of sliding them down. It was easy because she raised her legs into the air so that he could slide them off. He sniffed the panties before tossing them onto the floor. His mother made herself convenient and available for the attentions of her son's mouth, his lips and his tongue. She remained with her legs elevated, her hands behind her knees, supporting the weight. This had the effect of displaying all her naked charms in a lewd and provocative way. Her cunt and even her arsehole were presented to him in a way that was at the same time shameless and shameful. The cocktail of scents, woman odours, emanated from her twin orifices and imbued him with lust and passion. He used his fingers to open her, parting her lips like the petals of a beautiful pink rose and marvelled at the glistening flesh within. There was a faint odour of drying pee on her pubes. It was irresistible and soon his tongue was gliding along her lush pink gash, running up and down the full length while his mother made little sighs and inward moaning sounds. As he ran his lips and tongue up and down the length of his mother's slit, sucking her here and there, he heard her breathless voice imploring him: "Do my bottom as well, darling." And Jason obeyed without question, his libido and lust was cranked right up. His tongue located his mother's smaller hole. It had a dry feel and taste, quite tart. But he slicked it up, using his hands to part her buttocks and expose more of it. Soon his tongue slithered inside the tight hole and he worked it round, opening and relaxing her. The taste of her arsehole was in stark contrast to her cunt. This little orifice was dry and bitter, yet somehow so naughty and exciting - the forbidden hole. Whatever it was, his mother left him in no doubt of the pleasure she was receiving from it. "Now do my clitty, darling." And he watched as her forefinger traced along her slit and located it for him somewhere near the top of her vagina, releasing it from the protective shroud of flesh. It stood out, exposed like an embarrassed, inflamed morsel of flesh. When he attended it with soft lips and swirling tongue, his mother's body moved in harmony, guiding him into giving her the luscious, almost electric sensations. Her breathing became rapid, almost ragged, and her soft sighs more frequent and urgent. Her syrup and honey slicked his tongue, surrounded his mouth. He drank the intoxicating liquid from his mother's furry cup. Each stab of the tongue was met by a corresponding flexing of the legs, an arching of the back, or a mournful sigh. But suddenly she was tearing at his hair. "No, no!" He heard her voice saying. And she was pulling his head away by a handful of hair with one hand, and at his shorts with the other, ripping them down as if there was an urgency that had to be addressed immediately. "I need your cock in me now, darling. Please be quick. You must fuck me now and we will cum together." And then he was inside her. It just seemed to happen. So perfectly naturally. No fuss or fumbling. It was unbelievable. Like a lovely all-consuming dream. His cock moved inside her, through the slick and the viscous, his pubis bumping with hers. He tore her top off, and worked his hands feverishly at the breasts still protected inside the Janet Raeger bra. But he would not be denied and this too he pushed up and away without any unfastening. Her breasts tumbled out like jellies from the mould, popping and flopping in front of him. Jason immersed himself in his mother's tits, sucking the pointing nipples and smothering himself in their womanhood and maternal comfort while his prick drove hard into her sopping cunt with a ferocity that made Carol grunt at the summit of each lancing thrust. He was very good. She was even better. And then the clawing of his back by the long red-varnished nails signalled that the moment was upon her. Her legs wrapped around his waist clamping her body to him, ensuring that there would be no escape from her intended goal. She piercing shriek hurt his ear, but any painful side effect was numbed by the intense orgasm that wracked his body. His sperm jetted into her womb with a force that threatened to leave his balls on the floor. His cum flowed from him in a seemingly never-ending molten gush. His mother's legs squeezed him, as did her vaginal muscles which held and constricted his cock, as if wringing from him every last drop of cum. And then it was done. They melted into one another, becoming whole. They lay wordless, breathing heavily for a few moments while they floated back to earth on beds of feathers where they fell asleep in each other's arms. Their love had been consummated, but was it with the blessing of God, or the Devil? A Mother's Helping Hand Ch. 06 (...to be concluded in final Chapter Seven...)