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Subject: Title story: "Bath - A Mother and Son Story" Author: INCESTOR 48774904
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Date: Wed, 13 Jul 2005 17:15:09 +0000
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Bath - A Mother and Son Story
Mike was 14 and a natural athlete. Whatever sport was in season, he played. He
was good at all of them and great at some. It was at a baseball game where an
inexperienced player slid into second base, spiking Mike's left leg and breaking
it. There was knee damage as well, so Mike was now laid up with a cast almost
hip to heel. And Carol was taking care of him, enjoying being needed by her
increasingly independent son.
Carol and Mike had always been close. He wasn't a mama's boy by any means, but
was sweet and very sensitive, especially after his dad moved out. Mike was nine
at the time and the two of them gave each other much needed comfort and support
then. The first night, he heard Carol crying in bed and crawled in with her,
talking to her, stroking her hair and finally falling asleep beside her.
After that, without either of them saying anything about it, he slept in her bed
every night. Sometimes they'd talk, sometimes not--but Carol was happy to have
another presence in the bed with her. She slept naked--had done so since she was
a teenager--but didn't think much about it.
Mike saw her naked often when he was that age and seemed to not even notice. She
and Ray were very casual about covering up around him then. But one morning, she
awoke to find him sitting cross-legged on the bed near her shoulder, touching
her nipple gently with one tentative finger, his face wearing that serious,
inquisitive look she often saw.
That night, she had him start sleeping in his own bed again. It made her sad to
sleep alone, but she didn't think he should be in her bed anymore. From that
day, she made a better effort to cover up, too. Although the flea market
vintage kimonos she favored for around the house had a knack for gapping open
at the top or falling away from her thighs, so she knew Mike still saw things
from time to time.
Now it was Saturday afternoon, a week after the accident that had him mostly
confined to bed. He could hobble to the bathroom on his own--and refused her
help on that, thankfully--but it still hurt to stand up for any time at all, so
the rest of the time he was in bed. She had gone back to work that Monday, guilt-
ridden, but had no choice.
She left the phone by his bed and made sure there were snacks, beverages, books
and the TV remote all within reach. And she came home at lunch, bringing take-
out food and stories to break up his day. With it being summer, he didn't even
have homework to occupy him she was glad to be off today, to spend some time
with him--she knew how bored he was. They had watched old movies together 'til
the wee hours the night before, Carol sitting beside him on the bed, so she let
him sleep.
Finally in the afternoon, she heard the TV and brought him some lunch on a tray.
As she opened his door and walked in, a wall of funk hit her. Gasping a little,
she set the tray on the bed and crossed the room and threw open the window. Mike
was not the neatest kid when it came to his room, but this was different--this
was body funk.
"Mike, you stink, son. Bad. You need a bath."
He tapped his cast with his knuckles. "Yeah, right."
"Well, you need to wash up or something."
"I can barely stand up to pee, Mom. How can I stand up long enough to wash up?"
"Well, I can't stand to smell you like this. If you can't wash yourself,
I'll do it."
"Mom..." he protested.
"Right after you eat lunch, I mean it. Jeez!" And she waved her hand in front of
her face as she walked out. Mike knew that tone--not bossy, but dead serious.
There was no way around it.
Sure enough, twenty minutes later Carol walked in carrying a basin of warm
water, towels, soap and a washcloth.
"Mom..." Mike tried once more, weakly.
"Michael, I've bathed you many times before. I know you're growing up and it's
been a while, but you're still my little boy. Now let's just get this done.
You'll feel a lot better when you're all nice and clean." She set the basin on a
chair beside the bed and surveyed the scene. He was wearing only some old cotton
pajama pants--Carol had cut off the legs to make it easier to get them over the
cast. She had Mike roll on his side and spread towels on the bed--the sheets
would need changing anyway, this was just to not soak the mattress too much.
Then she began. She started with his face and neck, looking at his hair for a
moment, but not being ready to deal with it now. Mike had to admit--to himself,
not to his mother--that the warm soapy cloth felt good. And the whole experience
-- the smells, his mother's touch, even the quiet, tuneless humming she was
doing now as she'd always done before -- made him remember those bath times long
ago and feel very protected right now. Carol rinsed the cloth, wrung it out and
wiped the soap from his face. Then she washed each arm in turn, holding his hand
up to get all sides. He laughed a bit when she got to each armpit.
Next, she helped him sit up and gave his back a good long scrub, turning the
skin red with her vigorous rubbing. This felt especially good since he was
spending so much time lying on his back now. While she still had him sitting up,
she moved to his chest and shoulders. The muscles surprised her. She knew he
played sports--a lot-- and worked out with weights in the basement, but she
hadn't touched him like this in a while. He really felt more like a man than a
boy, or at least what she could remember a man feeling like.
Suddenly Carol was feeling stirrings she hadn't felt in a long time, and she
sternly reminded herself this was her little boy. Mike was struggling with
feelings of his own now. As his mother washed him, her kimono gapped open,
giving him an unobstructed view of her right breast, smallish and firm, the
ruddy nipple hard from her own excitement (this last fact Mike didn't know). He
looked away--at the TV remote on the bed, at the wooden clip clothespin holding
her kimono shut (the sash was probably in the laundry somewhere)... but his eyes
came back to this lovely breast before him. His mother's breast. As the
washcloth brushed across his own nipples, he remembered that morning when he was
nine that he'd touched that very breast--that very nipple.
Finally, Carol laid him back down and gave his muscled but still mostly hairless
torso a final wipe down. She had stopped humming some time ago now and the room
was silent except for the occasional splashing of water, the rustle of her
kimono against the bed.
In spite of herself, Carol was absolutely aware of every sensation--the
roughness of the cloth and Mike's muscled body through it, the slippery feel of
the soap, her own hard nipples brushing against the inside of her kimono. She
washed his left foot up to the cast, being careful to not get it wet. Then she
started on his right leg, picking it up as she had his arms. Only it was much
heavier. She rested his ankle on her shoulder and began washing, soaping first
his lower leg, then his knee, then his thigh.
She washed up to his cutoff pajama leg, then a little further. His toes lightly
brushed against her ear. God, she was beginning to feel lightheaded. Moving his
foot to the bed so his knee remained bent to keep the soap off the bed, she
rinsed the cloth. Then she wiped the soap from his leg slowly, methodically,
knowing what came next and not sure how she'd get through it. Still, it was what
had to come next, wasn't it.
Finally she lowered his leg to the bed and reached for the snap on his elastic
waistband. Mike made no protest now. It all seemed so natural to him. The snap
popped open in her fingers and he shifted his weight the best he could, letting
her wrestle the pajama pants off him. She held them up gingerly between
forefinger and thumb, saying, "I should probably just burn these."
She meant it to come out like a lighthearted joke, but her voice sounded thick
and a little wavery. Carol could feel her heart pounding in her throat. She
rinsed the cloth thoroughly, then soaped it again, still not looking at him--at
it. At last, there was nothing else to do, no other way to stall. She could hand
him the washcloth and tell him to wash himself, but that would be admitting to
him (and to herself) that there were things going on besides a mother bathing
her child. Besides, some part deep within her wanted to see it, touch it.
So now she turned and looked. Looked at her son's penis. God. He really was
becoming a man. There was sparse reddish hair at the base. And the penis itself
was surprisingly long and, at the moment, somewhat swollen. As Carol looked at
it, it suddenly twitched and rolled to one side, sending a shockwave through
her. Was he getting excited? Migod, she'd better get this done and get out of
there. With her cloth-covered hand, she first washed around the base, darkening
the curly pale hair with soap and water. Then she reached around under his
penis, cupping his testicles gently in the warm, damp cloth. Mike's cock
twitched again, bumping against her bare wrist. Another shockwave, right down to
her very core.
Carol stopped once more, rinsing and soaping the washcloth. It felt warm and wet
and slippery in her hand. She imagined what it would feel like against her own
inflamed pussy right now--imagined how it would feel on her son's cock (at what
point, she wondered, did she start thinking of it as a cock, not a penis). She
looked down to find him definitely more swollen than before. Not quite erect,
but starting to stand up.
At this point, there was no turning back. She wrapped the warm cloth around him
and began to wash. Immediately, he grew in her hand, becoming long, hard, and
erect. She turned to look at him, but his face was turned to the wall. She knew
he felt humiliated now. Still stroking him (her hand seemed to move of its own
accord), she spoke softly, soothingly. "I'm sorry, baby... it's okay, Mikey.
It's really okay."
He said nothing. She rinsed the cloth one last time, then wiped the soap
from his fur, his balls and finally from his still hard shaft. She couldn't
help but marvel at it, stare at it. It was as long as Ray's, not as thick
yet, but much harder than Ray ever was toward the end with all his drinking
and other excesses.
Unable to stop herself now, Carol had to touch it once more, without the
intervening cloth--feel the flesh of her hand on the flesh of her son's hard
cock. Silently asking forgiveness (from whom?), she reached out and wrapped her
fingers around it. Her own sex was throbbing now, so wet. Mike's cock felt so
hard, yet so soft and alive in her hand. She glanced quickly his way.
He was still turned toward the wall, but somehow seemed to relax a little. Her
thumb moved slowly up and down the underside of the shaft, then up to the head,
where it found a drop of precum. God. Holding him so lightly now, she began to
stroke him. Carol managed another sideways glance and found Mike now watching
her hand on his cock. No embarrassment or revulsion in his eyes, just a sense of
wonder. She continued to stroke him.
It had been so long, so damned long, since Carol had felt anything nearly this
wonderful. Still, even moments ago, she couldn't have imagined she'd be doing
this now. Ever. And certainly not what she did next. Leaning forward, she kissed
the head of her son's cock--just a light brush of her lips, really, but enough
to feel his precum on her lips, taste it with her tongue. She kissed him again,
this time a series of kisses on the underside of his shaft, from the tip down to
the base, ending with her lips grazing his balls.
She dared not look at him now--clamped her eyes shut, in fact--but his soft moan
urged her onward. Kissing her way back up his hard shaft, she slipped the head
into her mouth. And she paused briefly, tasting it, savoring the clean,
soapiness mingling with the taste of sex... running her tongue around its ridge,
across the very tip...
Then she took more of him into her mouth. And more still. And she began to suck,
using her lips, her tongue... Mike moaned again, so soft--a question almost. Her
fingers continued to stroke him near the base, his fine hair tickling her palm.
She felt hot, from her scalp to the backs of her knees.
Then Mike touched her. His hand in her hair, so gentle-- not like Ray pushing
her head down on his cock. Just touching her hair, caressing it. Now she chanced
a look and found him looking at her, looking into her eyes with such love. The
son's love she'd seen so many times, but now something more, too.
Carol held his gaze now as she sucked him, even more excited to have him
watching her do this, take his penis into her warm, wet mouth. Mike's hand moved
down the back of her neck, across her shoulder, resting there. Then his fingers
reached inside the neck of the kimono, closing on the fabric, tugging at it.
Taking her hand from Mike's hardness for a moment, but not her mouth, she
shrugged her shoulder out of the garment, let Mike pull it from her. The
clothespin popped loose, clattering to the floor. The kimono fell away. And
Carol was naked. Watching him still, she saw his eyes move across her body, felt
his eyes move over her breasts, down her back, along the curve of her hips...
Even at 38, Carol was still lean and firm, blessed with good genes, but also
just plain fit. But her hips were generous, her ass rounded. Mike's hand went to
her shoulder again, then slid slowly down her back. Carol swung her hips toward
him, inviting his hand. It lingered on her ass, stroking the soft, smooth skin.
She watched him watch his hand on her body, sucking him more urgently, stroking
his cock a little faster as her own excitement welled up within her. Mike's hand
moved to the inside of her thigh now, gripping it, stroking it, moving up
between her legs. He hesitated only a moment before touching her sex, cupping it
in his hand. Carol gasped, the sound muffled by Mike's hardness in her mouth.
Mike's fingers were now rubbing her outer lips, so incredibly wet with her own
juices... rubbing, exploring... then a finger slipped inside her. Then two. Mike
matched the pace of her mouth on his cock with his fingers in her pussy.
Suddenly, Carol felt her son's cock go more rigid, becoming even longer. She
knew he was about to come and this knowledge pushed her closer to the edge. "M-
mom?" A question blurring into a moan.
And then he exploded into her mouth, filling her with hot, salty come. And she
swallowed it hungrily, moaning, gasping, gulping, about to come herself. Her ass
moved more insistently now, pressing against Mike's fingers. He turned his hand,
the fingers now side by side, approximating the thickness of a cock.
Carol screamed as she came, his dick still in her mouth, muffling the sound. Her
hips rocked against his hand, and she came in waves, again and again, seemingly
forever, until she finally slowed, then stopped moving. With a final long suck,
she let Mike's now softening cock slip from her mouth. And his fingers slipped
from her pussy.
She turned to look at her son now in shy amazement. His expression mirrored
hers. Then he smiled at her. She reached out to stroke his hair and smiled back.
"Well," she said.
But neither of them could think of anything else to say right then, so they left
it at that. Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead, a tender, motherly
gesture. Then his cheek. Then his mouth, this kiss not so motherly--then
suddenly not motherly at all, mouths open, tongues exploring...
END
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