Unspoken Pleasure (erotica)

I froze. I didn't want to say anything, afraid it might break the spell. Mom was still watching television. If she had any idea what she was doing, touching, she didn't show it.

My breath was shallow. I couldn't focus on anything. Just Mom's warm hand on my dick. Finally, I knew I had to say something. If she'd grabbed me by accident -- it had to be an accident -- I needed to tell her. "Mom, you're touching me," I said, "You know. Down there."

"Am I?" Mom said. For the first time she turned to look at me. She was smiling coyly. I thought she was playing around. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said, as if the word was synonymous with 'duh.'

"How do you know?" Mom asked, still grinning, "Can you see?"

Instinctively, I reached to lift up the blanket, but Mom forcefully held it down with her other hand.

"Nuh-uh-uh, no peeking," she said. I felt her hand move, and for a moment I was overcome with both relief and regret. All Mom did, though, was move up slightly, find the waistband of my mesh shorts, and pull them down till my dick popped free.

My mother -- the woman who'd given birth to me, raised me, cared for me my entire life -- grabbed my bare cock and squeezed.

I groaned.

"Are you OK, dear?" Mom asked, casual.

"Um, yes," I said, "Yup."

Mom loosened her grip a little, then began to stroke my dick up and down.

"You're um..."

"I'm what?" Mom asked. She didn't slow her movement one bit. If anything, she picked up speed. Playing me to perfection.

"Well, I mean." The faster Mom stroked, the less I could speak. "It feels really good."

"What does?" Mom asked.

"What you're doing," I said.

"What am I doing, exactly?" Mom asked.

Even through the increasing pleasure, I gave my mother an incredulous look.

"Tell me what you think is going on," Mom said.

"You're um, well, you're stroking me off," I said.

"Perhaps," Mom said, "But unless we look, we truly can't know for sure. Can we?"

"Oh God," I said. Mom was milking my dick like a master. With Cassie, a hand job took a long time, and I'd have to stop her a few times and correct her motion. My Mom had me near completion in moments.

"Oh. Oh. Oh." I wasn't used to making noises during sex, but Mom was dragging them out of me. "Mom, I'm getting..."

My mother shushed me. She met my eyes. And in that moment, with my mother looking right at me, I came in her hand.

"Ohhhhhhh fuck," I said, my semen spilling out of me. The ecstasy sharper than I'd ever experienced. Finally, I softened, sticky in Mom's palm.

"Thanks," I said, stupidly, sinking back into the couch.

"For what?" Mom asked, again looking at me like I was the odd one.

A moment later, she got up to go to bed.

*

The next morning, I woke up on Dad's couch. I didn't remember falling asleep there. But I definitely recalled what had happened the night before.

I made my way upstairs, feeling like I was on a strange walk of shame. I told myself that what I remembered couldn't have happened. After I got changed, I went out for my first morning run of quarantine. Mom was already in the driveway, stretching.

I froze, anticipating an awkward conversation. Instead, Mom said nothing. She just nodded her chin at me. Maybe I really did dream the day before.

We went for a short, one-mile loop around the neighborhood. I knew I needed to do more, but even after that little distance I was already breathing hard. Amazing how quickly the body can let go if you let it. Besides, I was still bamboozled by what had happened and Mom's seemingly unfazed attitude about it.

We got home and I showered in the hall bathroom, lost in myself. When I went downstairs, I found Mom humming to herself and making breakfast, like always. I sat down to a mug of steaming coffee and a small stack of pancakes. For half the meal, I waited for Mom to say something, but she acted like everything was normal. Finally, I had to speak up.

"Mom, about last night," I said.

"What happened last night?" Mom asked. She looked down at her phone, distracted.

"When we were watching the movie," I said, "When you were. When I..."

"I told you honey, it's perfectly natural to react that way," Mom said. She got up and started to clear the table.

I spent the rest of the day in a cloud of confusion. I considered every crazy option I could. Maybe Mom had been drunk. Though I knew she hadn't had any alcohol. Perhaps Mom had gone temporarily insane? Or maybe I had accidentally hypnotized her in some way. Could aliens have possessed her for one five-minute period? And made her give me a handjob? For some reason?

It was all ridiculous. But were any of my theories any stranger than the fact that my own mother had stroked me off while watching TV and then pretended that nothing had happened?

Once again, after we finished dinner, we went downstairs to watch a movie. I sat on the couch and discovered, to my dismay, that I was already hard. Apparently, my body was prepped. The handjob had only happened once, but already I was conditioned to expect it. Pavlov would have had me drooling in an afternoon.

My dick stuck up like it was a divining rod. And I knew exactly where it wanted me to head. I grabbed the blanket to cover myself as Mom made her way downstairs, hoping she wouldn't see.

Mom chose Knocked Up because, of course, then sat down next to me on the couch. My erection went from stiff to raging as Mom's hips pressed against mine. I noticed she had both her hands under the blanket. "Ready to go, kiddo?" Mom asked.