All characters in sexual situations are 18 or older. Thanks for reading!
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I suppose this all started because I let my son, Christopher, move from his room upstairs down to our spare bedroom in the basement. He was eighteen, and a responsible young man, so it seemed like a good idea at time. Who knew that it would turn our family upside down?
There was a rule in our house that Christopher wasn’t supposed to have his girlfriend over unless I, or his father, was told about it. And if Gwen was over, he was supposed to always leave his bedroom door open. My son was not a rule breaker by nature, but I guess his hormones got the better of him. One day, I went down to the mechanical room in the basement to change the furnace filter and I was shocked to hear the sounds of love coming through the wall. I pressed my ear against the unfinished back of the drywall, and listened to Gwen shriek out the highs of ecstasy. I looked at my watch, they must have sneaked in right after school.
My first thought was that I would storm in there and confront them. But I couldn’t move. It had been so long since my husband had made me make the sounds coming out of Christopher’s room. Actually, as Gwen geared up to what was clearly an orgasm, I thought that maybe I had never made such noises. Certainly, I couldn’t remember if I had.
The bed squeaked, and I could hear the headboard banging against the wall. I thought of the day my husband had helped him assemble his bed. Never did we think he’d put it to such use. As I listened, I could hear Christopher’s low grunts harmonizing with Gwen’s caterwauls. I wasn’t going to confront them. I was going to listen like an eavesdropping pervert. A strange, fuzzy sensation spread through my belly. It dawned on me that I was wet between the legs. I had lived a sexless life for so long, I’d almost forgotten my body was capable of such things.
Through the wall, I heard Gwen trying to stifle her screams, clearly having her climax. Then, Christopher let out a long, low growl. Although my husband never made such a sound, I knew instinctively that this was the noise of a man’s release. I prayed they were using condoms and crept quietly upstairs.
Much as I tried to stop myself, I sneaked down to the maintenance room the next day at the same time. Sure enough, the muffled sounds of love came through the wall. That fuzzy feeling returned to my belly, and I rubbed my thighs together. Day after day, I sneaked into the basement to hear the teenagers go at it. I told myself that I was just listening to Gwen so that I could imagine being young again. But soon, I admitted to myself that I was just as fixated on Christopher’s grunting and the squeaking bed, which told me they made savage love.
After a couple weeks of this, it was time to find some satisfaction. I was growing quite frustrated with my sexless life. I cornered my husband one night before he could go to sleep and practically raped the poor man. He let me ride him, but the exercise turned out to make matters only worse. He orgasmed before I could, and he quickly fell asleep. That night, I went to the bathroom and touched myself for the first time. After that, I touched myself every night.
Well, it won’t come as a surprise to you, that I started touching myself while listening to my son and his girlfriend in the basement. I did orgasm, and it was good, but my frustrations mounted. It was clear from Gwen’s cries of passion that my hand could only give me a pale shade of what she experienced with Christopher.
Without knowing exactly what I was doing, I waited for my husband to go sleep one night. Then, I went down to Christopher’s room and found him working on homework at his desk.
“It’s nice to see you working so hard.” I took a deep breath. The room still smelled of sex from his afternoon session with Gwen.
“Oh, hi, Mom.” He looked up at me with bleary eyes. He did work very hard at school. I was so proud of him.
“We need to talk.” I walked over to his bed, sat down on the edge, and turned his swivel chair to face me. I kept my hand on his pajama-clad thigh, near his knee, as I looked into his eyes. “I found the condoms you wrap up and throw away in the basement bathroom.” My hand moved on its own, rubbing his thigh gently. What was I doing? “Your father and I were very clear about Gwen in our house. Have you been sneaking behind our backs?”
“I… um… I… well…” Christopher’s brows knitted in confusion as he looked from my eyes, down to the hand on his thigh, and then back up to my face. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you for apologizing. I don’t see any reason to get your father involved in this.” I continued to gently rub his thigh. I glanced down and my eyes widened. He was hard. His underwear and pajamas could barely contain it. Was this because… of me?
“Um… okay… thanks, Mom.” Confusion gave way to relief on Christopher’s face. It was clear he thought he had been in hot water, but was going to get away with it.
“I’m glad we had this talk. Goodnight, sweetie.” I stood and left the room, walking very quickly. He said goodnight to my back, but I was already rushing upstairs. I needed to get to my bathroom so I could take care of my poor, tingling vagina. The image of the bulge in his pajamas had burned itself into my brain. He was much bigger than his father. I was starting to see why Gwen squealed the way she did.
The next day, I sneaked down to the basement, nervous that I had spooked Christopher with our talk, and he wouldn’t have Gwen over. But the second I entered the maintenance room, I heard them. A wide smile spread across my face. I put my ear to the wall, my hand went to my vagina under my dress, and I got off as they did.
That night, I entered Christopher’s room again while he was studying. I sat down next to him, turned his chair, and rubbed his thigh with my hand like it was the most normal thing in the world. “We have to talk about Gwen,” I said. “Are you always using protection?” I didn’t know what I was driving at, but I wanted to talk about him and his cute, little girlfriend. I wanted him to tell me about what they were doing.
“Jeez, Mom.” Christopher rolled his eyes, but answered my questions. He told me he was always safe. That she was on the pill and they used condoms every single time.
I wanted more. I wanted him to describe to me what they did in detail. Did she take him into her mouth? Did he do that for her? Did they do it only in missionary? Did she ride him? But how can a mother ask such things? I could feel frustration welling inside of me. Why did this eighteen-year-old girl get to experience such joys, but I was denied? After some awkward conversation that amounted to nothing, I bid him goodnight and went back upstairs.
It became a daily routine, that I would listen to Christopher and Gwen make love in the afternoon, and then visit him to question him at night. I always placed my hand on his firm thigh. And my questions got more probing over time. Eventually, I got Christopher to tell me how he felt about sex, “It’s like the most dope roller coaster of all time,” how he felt about Gwen, “I think I love her,” and how he felt about me, “coolest mom ever,” for looking the other way when Gwen came over. Little did he know, I wasn’t looking the other way at all. I was listening to every minute of it.
The more we bonded and had our nightly talks, the more my frustration surged. I tried all sorts of things with my husband to quench my thirst, but he never lasted more than a few minutes. I always ended up with unsatisfying masturbation in the bathroom afterward.
One night, I was in his room talking to him as was now our custom. I had my hand on his thigh, gently rubbing his leg as we talked.
“I’m not sure what teenagers do in bed today, to tell you the truth.” I admitted this sheepishly. “Could you tell me what you do?”
“Um… no… Mom.” He looked over at me, confusion twisting his brow. His cheeks turned rosy. “I’m not going to talk about that.”
“Well, I just want to know so that I know you’re both safe.”
“We’re safe, Mom.” He shook his head and smiled like that was the end of that line of questioning. But I persisted.
“Does she, for instance, touch you like this?” I squeezed his thigh near his knee and rubbed a little higher. I glanced down. There was that familiar tent in his pajamas poking up at me. My heart leaped into my throat. What was I doing? I didn’t know, but I did know I couldn’t stop.
“She does… more than that.” A nervous edge entered my son’s voice. “It’s pretty late, I should probably get to –” He stopped suddenly, his whole body tensing as my hand trailed up to his penis and grabbed hold.
Good gracious, it was so thick. Did he feel the same electricity that I did? “Does she… touch you like this?” My voice was very dry. I squeezed him rhythmically. I was ready to flee the room if he pushed me away, but he just sat in his chair staring down at my hand on his junk.
“Mom?”
“I’m just wondering, if you two do this sort of thing.” My need to end my frustration had seized control of my brain. In the moment, I pretended I was Gwen and that he was going to drive me to the heights he drove her to every afternoon. “Like this?” I pulled his elastic band, and my fingers went inside his pajamas and underwear. The flesh of his penis was fevered and hard, with just the faintest give. So perfect.
“Yeah, we do that.” He watched my hand bounce under his pajamas as I stroked him. Eventually, I returned to my senses and withdrew my hand. “It’s late. Goodnight.” I rushed from the room.
But I returned the next night. And after a few minutes of performative small talk, my hand was inside his PJs again, pumping away. Goodness, had his father ever been that hard? My husband had certainly never been that big. I worked him with my hand in silence for a while, then withdrew, and rushed from the room again. That night as I rubbed my button in the bathroom, I thought about how he must be finishing himself off in the basement bedroom. Despite these advances, my frustration mounted. The next day, I seduced my husband again, almost in a frenzy. But he did nothing to quell the thirst inside me.
After my husband fell asleep in his post orgasmic bliss, I quickly went down to see Christopher. This was a mistake. I should have taken care of myself first to take the edge off. But I was so excited to get my hands on him. I understood a little of how Gwen must feel every afternoon.
We sat in our usual positions.
“Does Gwen… make you…” I stared at the bouncing bulge in his pants as I worked him. I needed to see it. With both hands, I pulled down his bottoms and underwear. He lifted his butt to help me, and his bottoms were now down around his ankles. “Does she ever… make you release in her hands? Or is it always in the condom? It could be dangerous if she got your stuff on her hands and then put it down… there.” I nodded down at where my dress hung between my own legs. I was smitten by his beauty. The pink head was perfect. The thick, veiny shaft was so manly. I reminded myself that I had created this man who was a work of art.
“She… does make me… cum… with her hands sometimes.” Christopher looked into my eyes with longing. I knew what he needed me to do.
“Let me see. Like this?” For the first time, I pumped him with both hands out in the open air.
“Yes… but she grips… ugh… a little tighter.” Christopher’s face tightened with pleasure. “Yes… like that. Oh, Mom. You’re as good as Gwen.”
That was music to my ears. I happily pumped him in silence for the next fifteen minutes. Eventually, he started grunting. I recognized the sound of his impending climax from all those times I’d listened through the wall. But now it was happening, and I was on this side of the wall. “Go ahead, sweetie. Just like you would… for Gwen.”
Christopher practically growled as his stuff shot out of him. I shrieked a little, startled by the quantity and the force of his orgasm. It ejected up into the air and fell on his shirt, his legs, and my arms. I pumped him until he was quite done, feeling the hot, sticky liquid on my skin. When his body slumped in his chair, I removed my hands and stood.
“Okay, well, I’m glad I know how she does that,” I said lamely.
He didn’t seem to know how to respond. “Yeah,” was all he said.
“I’ll go get cleaned up now.” I walked to the door and opened it, looking back at him. He had sperm stains up to his chest. “You better clean up, too. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” He smiled dreamily at me. I had a feeling he’d just go to sleep in his stained clothes. Oh, well.
I turned and raced upstairs to my bathroom. With his stuff still on my hands and arms, I masturbated myself to the best orgasm I’d had in over a decade. But it still left me wanting something more. I knew I had to have what Gwen had.