Rich's Mum Ch. 02: Conclusion

THE STORY SO FAR:

Rich and Mark have just completed their first term at university and Rich has agreed to let Mark sleep over at his house during the Christmas break. The two have been friends for a long time and Mark thinks nothing of this, although Rich's mother appears to be overly flirtatious at times during the evening. When Rich's mum calls in on the two friends to wish them a good night, however, things take an unexpectedly intimate turn...

His mouth slipped around his friend's cock easily enough. Almost as if it was meant to.

The small quantity of pre-cum that had sat glistening on its tip was smeared on his tongue and Mark shivered at its mild, salt-laced taste. The experience - no, the idea - of taking his friend's cock into his mouth remained horrifyingly taboo. The sense that he was doing something wrong, was putting at risk not only his friendship with Rich but his intrinsic sense of self was powerfully, almost sickeningly, strong.

But the physical practicalities of the situation didn't allow for much introspection. Rich's cock quivered in his mouth, its texture - smooth skin rolling back as he stroked, hot glans slick and solid, its underside surprisingly tender - and sheer physical presence making demands of him that he knew he had to meet.

And Rich's hand on his head, like a priest giving some kind of weird benediction, was stroking gently. The realisation that his friend wanted this hit him like an almost physical blow. He sucked at him, then slid forward an inch, his lips forming a slobbery seal around this alien object inside his mouth. He pressed his tongue against the shaft, working it against the flesh that was hard but not hard, that yielded briefly then pushed back against it.

Rich groaned, his voice low. There were no words now. Something sacred was happening. Or blasphemous. He couldn't be sure which.

Even Mrs Macauley had fallen silent, although she had not stopped grasping Mark's cock since Rich's had entered his mouth. He was concentrating on sucking Rich, but was never unaware of his friend's mother's hands squeezing, stroking and rubbing. Her body was a warm, satin-shrouded presence at his side; intermittently, her mouth would brush the bare skin of his side or shoulder and strange quiet mewlings would escape her lips.

Mark kept his head bobbing up and down, up and down. The cock within his mouth was slick with his saliva now and its exposed shaft glistened in the half-light. Rich began thrusting forward, trying to get deeper and deeper into Mark's mouth, deeper than Mark was comfortable with. He had to grip his friend's member tightly in an effort to keep it from going too far.

Going too far...

That would have been funny, but the hush in the room and the sheer physical intimacy of what he was doing seemed to demand an earnest solemnity. He bobbed his head down just as Rich thrust again and he almost gagged. His friend's cock was invasive, monstrous, demanding his attention. He sucked at it clumsily, his mouth making slurping noises that were awkward and almost obscene in their banality. The taste of the cock flooded his mouth, searing itself into his memory. He would never forget this, he knew. Never in a million years.

He felt the coolness of the bedroom air on his buttocks and scrotum. At some point in the last minute or so, Mrs Macauley had pulled his boxers down. She now shifted her attention away from his cock and towards something else. Mark gasped as her fingers slipped between his buttocks and found the hole hidden between them. She pressed a fingertip against his anus slowly but forcefully. Mark shivered again and the rhythm of his sucking sped up. It could have been his imagination but there seemed to be a greater rigidity to his friend's member. Its head was swollen, the ridge that separated it from the shaft more pronounced. More pre-cum seeped into his mouth; he swallowed it, gulping it down hungrily. His right hand worked Rich's shaft, while his left cupped his friend's balls, fondling them gently; he felt the cock pulse and twitch in his grip.

Rich groaned.

And there was something in that groan. Something primal and animalistic and true. In that moment, overcome by a compassion that seemed to come from some deep, previously inaccessible part of him, he lost himself.

Letting Rich's cock leave his mouth to slap his abdomen wetly, he sat back and stared at his friend, taking in the dark eyes, now clouded with lust, the thin, pale body, the unkempt brown hair. Desire throbbed in Mark's gut. And cock.

Rich's mum slipped closer to him. Her arm snaked about his shoulder and she pulled him close.

"You poor boy," she whispered. "You don't know what you want, do you?" He listened numbly. "Kiss him. Let him feel what you feel..."

Yes. That sounded right somehow...

Heart pounding, he caught Rich's eye and leaned forward, clambering awkwardly over his prone body, bending his head down. Reticence flickered in Rich's gaze for an instant, but an ocean of desire had been stirred in Mark and it was simply too strong to be deflected now. Their mouths met, open. Together they shared each other's moist heat, tongues slipping and sliding against one another, lips locked.

Distantly, he heard a long feminine sigh of satisfaction, but his focus was almost entirely on Rich, on his friend, on the friend he loved. He lay on top of him, bringing his hand up to his cheek, luxuriating in the sensation of Rich's arm around him, his hand squeezing first one buttock then another. The feeling of being wanted, of being encircled by a warm, insistent strength, was almost overwhelming.

His cock slid against Rich's.

Rich moaned, a low vibration beginning in his throat, transmitted via flesh, bone, sinew and muscle to Mark's mouth.

He felt a hand around his cock. Slender, firm fingers gripping it, moving it. He felt that grip loosen, change. The underside of his member brushed against the hardness of Rich's cock once more. The hand held it there, was joined by another. He heard Rich's mother let out a small, satisfied sigh.

He broke off the kiss, shifted his body so that she had better access to his cock. And Rich's. She had both hands about them now, wanking them together, slowly, awkwardly. He raised himself up and looked down his friend's body and saw what his mother was doing. Her forearms were bare, the soft light glinting off the fine hairs there. Her hands were wrapped around her own son's cock and that of her son's friend, binding them together and loosing the two young men into a world of mutual pleasure.

It was all he could do not to climax that instant. Rich's mother's hands were soft and hot around his cock; the underside of his friend's member was hot and slick with saliva. It twitched once, then again.

And then it pulsed. Strongly.

Rich let out another anguished groan - louder this time. His whole body tensed and he thrust upwards, almost dislodging Mark.

Hot semen surged up and through Rich's penis. Mark felt it, registering the release as an urgent shivering motion, Mrs Macauley's hands ensuring that he and his friend shared it. And then his stomach and chest were sticky with cum; spurt after spurt splashed like melted candle wax on their skin, flashes of heat quickly followed by the sensation of pooling wetness. Fascinated, Mark saw Rich's semen slow to a thick dribble, saw his mother's hand pulling her son's foreskin - both of their foreskins - right back until the heads of their cocks were a strained reddish-purple.

"Oh, God," Rich cried, hoarsely.

Mark drew back then and Mrs Macauley released her grip on the two young men. Rich was panting, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Clumsily, Mark slid off the bed, aware of his own need but also Rich's embarrassment. His cock, still hard, the memory of Rich's member pressed against it, flopped futilely between his legs.

His mind stumbled in a fog of overwhelming sensations. Mrs Macauley's perfume; Rich's body; his taste; the sheer physical pleasure of his own body; the almost terrifying yearning scraping at his insides: these sensations assailed thought, besieged it, brought it crashing down, separating it into its constituent parts.

He loved his friend, he loved his friend's mum, he wanted... What did he want? What did he want really?

Mrs Macauley was all maternal efficiency. "Let's get you two cleaned up, eh?" Mark watched her reach over for the tissues on the bedside table; her arm was slender and beautifully toned. She shot him a pretty, almost embarrassed smile, and Mark's heart shivered, even as his cock continued to throb insistently, an impatient reminder that his own desire remained unfulfilled. With a theatrical flourish, she plucked a fist of tissues from the box and started wiping away her son's semen from his front.

"It's all right," she said softly. "I'll clean you up." She wiped the tissues across his chest and down his front, mopping up her child's emissions with a practised air. "You needed that, didn't you?"

Rich said nothing. He rubbed his hand across his eyes, as if bewildered, or attempting to clear them of some lingering hallucination. It was as if he was waking from a dream. He did not look at his friend. His mother stopped wiping for a moment, leaning over Rich and brushing her lips against his, murmuring something that Mark couldn't quite catch.

Rich nodded slowly and his mother returned to her cleaning. Watching her, Mark was struck again by how elegant and sensual she was - if wiping your son's cum from his stomach was something that could be done elegantly. The negligee clung to her and shifted as she moved, occasionally catching the half-light and accentuating the curves of her hips and the smooth slopes of her back and shoulders.

Rich's cum slid slowly down his skin. He couldn't quite bring himself to touch it, and he was too entranced by Rich's mother to care.

Straightening, the soiled tissues in her hand, Rich's mother turned to him.

"Do you want me to do you now?"

Behind her, his friend rolled over and faced the wall, turning his back towards them. Heart thumping, Mark nodded dumbly.

Mrs Macauley set the tissues she had been using to one side and drew a fresh clump from the box on the bedside table.

"Stand up, Mark."

Licking his lips uncertainly, Mark did as he was told. Rich's mother stood too. There was very little space between Rich's bed and the air-bed. They stood very close to each other, looking at one another, standing together, breathing together. Mark's mouth was very dry and his skin strained, yearning to be touched. Mrs Macauley gave him a quirky, ironic smile, as she raised her hand - not the one holding the tissues - to Mark's chest.

"He's made a bit of a mess, hasn't he?"

Her fingernails were painted a subtle russet, rich and autumnal. With an immaculately manicured forefinger, she touched his chest just above his nipple. It was the highest point on his body that Rich's semen had reached. She traced its path down his skin, collecting a quantity of it as she went. She stopped at a point just above his belly button. She raised her finger to her mouth. Watching him intently, she licked it clean.

And then she lifted her head, parted her lips, leaned forward and kissed him.

Her lips were soft, the lipstick on them sweet and fragrant; her mouth was hot and tasted of alcohol, semen and a physical hunger that was almost terrifying in its intensity. Mark kissed her back, but he found that neither his passion nor his skill was a match for hers. Her hand came up to caress the back of his head, a gentle disincentive to break the kiss - not that he had any intention of doing so. His arms encircled her, sliding over the warm satin of her waist. Tentatively at first but with growing confidence, he ran his hands over her satin-clad back before resting on then gently squeezing her buttocks. She kissed him harder, pressing her lips forcefully against his and her free hand, still holding the unused tissues, came up to rest against his chest.

Seconds passed; her warmth, her heat seeped into him. He wanted her. He had to have her. He had to...

Running her hand from the back of his head to his cheek to his chest, she pulled away from him, that odd, self-deprecating smile still lingering on her lips.

"I'm not doing a very good job of looking after you, am I?" Some of Rich's cum was already beginning to dry on his skin, but she passed the tissues over it all the same, mopping up the residue as she did so. She bent her head forward slightly, as if Mark's body were some ancient statue in need of restoration and she was assiduously and intently applying a final cleaning stroke before the work could begin. Her lips pressed briefly against his stomach; he felt for one sweet second the heat of her breath against his skin. She straightened up and took his hand. The smile had returned - the pretty one, an intoxicating mix of girlish innocence and seductive vulnerability. A stray lock of hair, corkscrewing lazily across her forehead, fell across her eye. Mark caught hold of it between thumb and forefinger and carefully moved it away, tucking it in with the rest of her straw-blonde hair. The smile broadened and she looked up at him, eyelids fluttering. "Thank you," she whispered.

She turned to her son on the bed. "I'm just taking Mark to my room, love." Her voice was light, a loving mother informing her son of her movements. "I'll be back later, all right?"

Rich made no reply. He could have been sleeping, but Mark knew, by the tension in his shoulders and the stillness of his limbs, that he was not.

His mother smiled at her son affectionately for a moment. The ghost of that smile still lingered as she turned back to Mark, but it was soon replaced by an expression far more... hungry.

"Come with me," she said. Taking Mark's hand in her small one, she led him out of the room and towards the door at the end of the landing.

*****

Mark had an impression of a large bedroom - perhaps twice as big as Rich's - with a double or perhaps king size bed against the far wall, a curtained window set in the wall to his right and a large Victorian-looking wardrobe to his left, before Mrs Macauley thrust him against the door and started kissing him again.

Mark's mind reeled. Her kisses were so passionate, so fierce, that he found himself gasping for breath. Rich's mother's lips seemed to be everywhere - neck, cheek, jawline, temple, earlobe and, of course, mouth. Mark brought his arms up to encircle her, to press her body against his and he moaned at the sensation of her breasts squeezed firmly against his chest with only the thin satin of the negligee to separate them.

Her scent was in his nostrils and her hands stroked his chest and arms tenderly, lovingly. His cock had softened somewhat, becoming semi-flaccid, warmly and pleasantly engorged. Now it hardened and his scrotum tightened; his sex was awkward and ugly against her satin-smooth stomach. She leaned into it, revelling in its presence against her body. On his chest, his nipples were rigid and she began to run her fingertips over them lightly, teasingly. He bent his head down and kissed her neck and shoulders; she murmured something he couldn't understand, a timeless incantation of growing desire.

She pulled away from him, eyes suddenly serious. She took one step, then two away from him.

Stomach lurching with a desperate need, Mark made to follow her, but she held up a slender forefinger in front of her face and her face was stern.

"Let's get some things straight," she said. "Firstly, my name is Priscilla. Not Mrs Macauley. Not Rich's mum. Priscilla. Secondly, we're going to fuck. It's going to be good." She smiled then, fleetingly. "Well, I'll do everything I can to make it good, but..." She paused and glanced away. The vulnerability was there again and Mark felt a pang of something deep and huge stirring somewhere within him. After a second or two, she turned back to him and her voice was no longer stern, but soft, tender and trembling with emotion. "If you... have feelings for me..." She stopped, sniffed, looked up at him with eyes startlingly clear of any artifice or affectation. "I can't help that. I don't want to hurt you, but..."

Mark thought of his friend in the bedroom down the hallway. He thought of his shoulders tensing and the stillness of his body.

"I understand," he said, hoarsely. "I think I do..."

Mrs Macauley - no, Priscilla smiled wistfully. "That's nice of you, Mark." She took another couple of steps away from him until she was standing at the foot of the bed, the light from the two bedside lamps casting a slick yellow halo on her arms and hair. She crossed her arms over her chest, her hands reaching to hold the straps of her negligee in a loose-fingered grip. Again, Mark felt his heart lurch within him. Again, he found her vulnerability, her sheer feminine need, utterly intoxicating.

Spellbound, he watched her inch the negligee straps over her lightly-tanned shoulders and down her smooth golden arms. She paused. And then let go, sending the satin garment shimmering down her body to pool at her feet. She let her hands drop to her sides and held Mark's gaze, watching him, gauging him.

It was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing her in his arms and flinging her on the bed, but Mark made himself pause, made himself drink in every inch of her beauty. She was perhaps five feet and five inches tall in her bare feet. Her face was beautiful in that mature, experienced way that women of a certain age sometimes possess. The incipient crow's feet around her eyes and the faint lines around her mouth did nothing to dilute her beauty; if anything, they enhanced it. Her hair was styled but a little wild, as if hinting at a spirit that was forever straining at the bounds of propriety; her chest and bare shoulders were lightly tanned, dusted with freckles, and her arms were slender and toned. Her breasts were proud and almost perfectly round. Once again, Mark found himself wondering about cosmetic surgery, but he had to concede that, natural or not, they were beautiful and he ached to touch them. Her belly was flat and abdomen smooth; her legs were shapely. Between them, she kept her hair neat and trimmed and Mark could just make out the outline of two fleshy lips, an inverted v that offered a subtle invitation to his straining cock.

He forced himself to breathe. Slowly. Trying to calm himself. He felt her gaze as both an invitation and a weight. He felt an almost overwhelming desire to please her, to worship her. He wanted to hear her moan and cry out and know that he had conjured forth her pleasure, brought it into being on hot breath and shivering air. Did Rich do that? Did his friend summon up his mother's pleasure, play her body like a finely-tuned instrument? Was he a tender, giving lover?

These thoughts were as unwelcome as they were irresistible. The nagging knowledge that he was about to take something that was not his worried at the edges of his mind. If only...

"You won't break me, you know," Priscilla said. This time her lips wore the sardonic smile, dry and playful. Her blue eyes gleamed with amusement.

Mark crossed the space between them quickly. Her body was his to explore and his hands and lips touched her flesh hungrily. He kissed her neck, shoulder, chest. Her nipples were dark brown and stubby, positively screaming out to be sucked, and he ducked his head down eagerly, licking one nipple with slow, sloppy strokes, while playing with the other with a grasping, needy hand. He felt her hand rest upon his head, stroking, stroking. Her breath assumed a heavier, more ragged quality. He licked and squeezed a little more, before straightening up and, still kneading one breast with his hand, bent his head down to kiss her once again. Her tongue slid slowly against his as she opened her mouth. Their bodies closed, thrust against one another even as their tongues performed a moist, muscular dance in her mouth. His fingers stroked her slowly and, once again, cupped her breasts - both of them this time. Involuntarily, Mark broke the kiss, as his fingers discovered, then traced, the tiny scars on the underside of each breast.