Kathy Andrews - Mom does it all

Donna Alyn leaned at the washer, loading it with soiled clothing. Behind her, Timmy watched the way her ass moved.

"You forgot my cut-offs again!" he said.

Donna jumped, startled. "I'm sorry, honey," she said.

"Don't forget again, Mom," Timmy replied, tossing his cut-offs to her. "You know I wear them all the time."

Donna clung to his shorts, watching him walk away. She hated herself for being so easily startled every time he spoke to her. She hated herself because she was so passive, so easily dominated. She hated herself because of her fear of men. She couldn't stand up to men. All her, life it had been this way, letting men tell her what to do, when to do it, being a slave to their demands. It had started very early with her father, he was a domineering man who had her mother trembling with fear all the time. Then it was her brother, her husband, and, now, her son.

When her husband had been killed, Donna felt she had finally broken the cycle, but she had also been lost, not knowing what to do, unable to make a decision for herself.

But then her son had become the controlling force in her life. It was only natural, she thought, that Timmy should step into his father's place. He had been conditioned to. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to carry on in his father's place, and for her to turn to her son for guidance and instruction.

Why not? That was the way it had been all her life. Men telling and her obeying.

It was a man's place to tell.

Her duty was to obey.

But she was fearful something was going to happen, something between her and Timmy. He had been looking at her with a strange gleam in his young eyes, a gleam she understood very well. It was the same gleam her husband would get when he was horny, she didn't think her son would fuck her, but she couldn't be certain. What would she do if he demanded what men called their natural rights with a woman? She found out that evening.

She was sifting on the couch, wearing her robe, polishing her toenails. Timmy was on the floor, watching her. She placed her foot on the low glass-topped coffee table, tucking her robe between her thighs carefully, but still exposing her thigh. At first she didn't realize her son was watching her that closely. She didn't have to see him looking to feel his eyes on her thigh. She began trembling, afraid to look at him, afraid to see where he was looking.

Somehow, she managed to finish that foot, hiding her nervousness with an effort. But when she started on the other foot she was a little careless. Unknown to her, the robe did not quite conceal her crotch when she switched feet and her panties were exposed. Timmy's eyes had become hot as he stared at the panties. A few dark curls of hair curled teasingly from the tight crotch.

She caught the movement of Timmy's hand as he darted it into his lap. She couldn't see what he was doing because of the coffee table, but it was obvious. He was touching himself as he looked at her.

Donna started to adjust her robe.

"No, Mom," Timmy said, his voice hoarse.

Donna's breath caught in her throat, her hand an inch or so from her robe, unmoving, frozen, with her fingers pointing to her cunt, as if she was getting ready to rub it. She lifted her eyes and saw the gleam in Timmy's. A shudder rippled through her. It was the same gleam her husband used to get, only Timmy's eyes appeared much brighter, more demanding. His arm was moving, and she knew he was playing with his cock while he looked at her. A peek between her thighs told her what he was seeing. A blush crept over her face, and she felt shy, embarrassed. Somehow, though, she felt excitement, too. She had never really been excited when her husband had looked at her that way. He seldom had, anyway. His way was to just grab her and start fucking her, regardless of her feelings. He had never looked at Donna as if he really wanted her, but as a possession. He had looked at her as though she was just a hole for his pleasure.

But Timmy… he was looking at her as if he truly wanted her, found her exciting, lovely to look at. He looked at her as if he not only wanted to fuck her, but to hold her, stroke her, play with her… caress and fondle.

Donna felt her responses toward her son puzzling. Her nipples began to swell, straining out, bulging in tight hardness. Then, too, her cunt was starting to get wet and her clit pressed at the crotch of her panties. She had never felt real desire before, not even for her husband. Now she was surprised to find herself attracted to her son.

She also felt ashamed of her desires, confused and embarrassed. A pink flush burned at her cheeks, and she tried to keep her eyes downcast, but found herself peeking at her son shyly.

Timmy stood up.

"Oh my God!" Donna whispered.

Her sons cock pressed at his shorts, very hard. The tip of his cock was slightly exposed from the stringy fringe. She felt a lurch in her cunt.

Timmy laughed a boyish sound.

"Timmy, please!" Donna whispered, knowing what was on his mind. "You don't know what you're doing."

"I know what I'm doing, Mom," he said. His hips arched forward proudly. The head of his cock slipped into view, swollen, very smooth, about the size of a small, immature plum. Moisture formed on his piss hole.

Donna gasped, shaking, embarrassed to be seeing her son's cock, ashamed of herself for peeking, ashamed because her cunt was responding with increasing wetness. She lowered her eyes, but just as quickly lifted them again, staring at the head of his cock.

Timmy pulled his cut-offs to one side, let his cock stand out, his balls dropping free. Donna couldn't breathe, and she couldn't pull her eyes from them. Timmy stroked his hairless balls a moment, then closed his fist about his cock, stroking back and forth slowly. She listened to his breathing increase and gazed at his cock from her lowered eyes, feeling the heat of her face, the unexpected throbbing of her cunt.

"Timmy, please don't do that," she finally managed to say, her voice coming out in a low whisper.

"I can if I wanna," he replied.

"Timmy, don't!"

"Aw, shut up, Mom," he said, pumping his prick faster. "Don't tell me what I can do or not do." He sounded just like her father, her brother, her husband – every man who had ever dominated her.

"Do it in your room then, please," she said.

"I wanna do it right there," he said. "And I wanna see you, more."

"You want to…" Donna's body jerked.

"Show it to me, Mom!" Timmy demanded. "Lemme see what it looks like."

"See what?" she asked, fearfully, knowing what he was talking about. "Your fucking cunt!" Timmy snapped. "I wanna see your fucking cunt, Mom!"

"Please," Timmy she said, tears forming in her eyes. "You know I'm your mother."

"Show it to me!" he rasped.

Donna's body shook, and she was afraid now, but not that her son would slap her or hit her. He wouldn't do that. No one had ever beaten her. They just made her do what they wanted by words, gestures, and she obeyed. She was afraid her son was going to dominate her just as the others had, and she wouldn't be able to prevent it. She couldn't stop him, she had to do as he said – her way was to obey, just as she had all her life.

Men gave the orders, women obeyed. Men made demands, and women complied. No matter what the man wanted, women had to do it. Donna had been raised that way.

So she did as her son ordered.

She pulled her robe out of her crotch, her fingers shaking.

Her panties were nothing to get excited about. They were standard, the white cotton utility type, not in the least sexy. But her panties weren't what interested Timmy. It was the way her cunt bulged inside the crotch, the strands of curly hair sprouting from the elastic leg.