Don Russell: Mother every way

"You mean, like Smokey?"

She smiled again. "Like Smokey. Incidentally, if you do find a girl who's willing to try that, she might like it better the first time if you can work it so she's on her back. She'll have less psychological blocks to overcome and more erotic contact with the animal."

Her son's eyes widened. She realized he was speculating – that he must suspect she'd continued that line of research without his knowledge. But she wasn't concerned; she expected him to harbor some residue of erotic notions about her from now on.

"The fact is, Danny, I might even let you play with me once in a while. That's not a promise, and you shouldn't count on it, but it isn't impossible that I might feel like it someday. In the meantime, you'd better get a good look at me right now, because I'm through posing for you."

Helen's plans came to naught. Less than an hour later the telephone rang. Art was calling to say his business deal was not complete and that he'd be staying over another day.

The last few days' activities had built a need in her, a need she had planned to share with Art. But Art wasn't available. Helen tried to ignore the need building in her but it was too great. Finally swallowing her pride she went in search of Danny.

"Your father won't be home until 4:00 tomorrow afternoon. If you agree to abide by my rules we'll do whatever you want until then." She could see him mentally calculating the hours. "I'll even let you skip school tomorrow," she added.

"What if I don't agree?" he asked with a note of challenge in his voice.

"Marmion Military Academy!" she stated flatly.

"Mom! You wouldn't!" Danny protested in amazement.

"You just try me, young man!" she challenged.

"What are your rules?" he asked a little petulantly.

"Just one rule. After tomorrow you don't ever come on to me again. When, and if, I'm interested I'll come to you. Its been wonderful, Danny, but it's wrong."

"Okay. I agree," he succumbed reluctantly.

Helen gave a small sigh of relief and relaxed visibly, confident now that she was now in control again. Danny would never know how close he had come to total domination of his mother.

"When do we start?" Danny asked on a slightly brighter note.

"Right now, if you want. I'm all yours until four-o-clock Monday."

Helen woke with the scent of jism strong in her nostrils. When she moved her bottom hurt and she remembered Danny reaming her asshole.

Yesterday had been a sexual marathon. Again she had made the mistake of underestimating Danny's sexual appetite and stamina.

In the shower she cleaned herself… the shower door slid open and Danny stepped into the small steamy compartment with her. Her son, her lover, her tormentor. It was nine in the morning. She had to endure another seven hours of torment and bliss.

Helen had Art to herself that evening. Danny climaxed a restless afternoon by requesting permission to eat pizza at a place downtown and see one of the new movies, and she was quite willing to agree. Before Danny left, he brought up the subject of the donkey again.

"Don't get mad, Mom, but I was wondering."

"What?"

"Well, most people don't get around donkeys very much. Do you think dogs would be likely to do that as Smokey was?"

She hesitated. "Probably," she replied at last.

"Mom, was he good?"

She felt a flush rise to her face. "Yes. Very good."

"Hmmmm."

He had been gone only a few minutes when Art got home, and Art had seen Danny.

"I saw Danny crossing a vacant lot about six blocks from here. Where's he going?"

She told him.

"Oh." Art's voice sounded lighter. "How come you're all dressed then?"

She sniffed. "Seems to me there was something mentioned about people being modest." She grinned at his pained expression. "Look, hon," she said. "I had a chance to take a good look at myself while you were with Van this afternoon. I decided I'd swung like a pendulum. I was a first class Victorian – a Grandma Farrell – until I realized I was going to lose you that way. So I went to the other extreme – a no-holds-barred nympho. Well, I think I know what I am now."

"Yeah? Well enough to tell me?"

"I think so. I love sex, honey. I'll do anything or let anything happen to me… at the right time, with the right person and when I'm in the right mood. I'm going to be my own boss about that, and I'm not going to let Grandma Farrell's ghost scare me out of having fun or let every casual stimulus stampede me into tearing off my clothes."

Art was studying her with an expression of obvious respect. She leaned against him and let her love for him show in her smile.

"Of course, darling…" she spoke softly. "The strongest stimulus I know is seeing you want me. And that's never casual."

"If I get a 'let's screw' look in my eye, off come the clothes?" he asked with a grin.

"If that's what you want. Or on they stay, if you want it that way."

He began to look agitated. "What about guys like Barry?"

"I'm not sure. Barry's good with sex. I don't mind having him make love to me. But he's not so important to me that I'd let him if you didn't want me to. And I'm certainly not interested in trying out anybody else, unless you think I ought to." She hesitated, then continued. "If I see a guy who really turns me on, I'll tell you about him and we'll decide if I ought to try him out."

Art whistled. "Goddamn! That doesn't sound like a woman talking! Sounds like the way a man would think!"

"There's been some pressure," she said. "It wasn't the kind of pressure I could have survived with tears of wishful thinking. Maybe it took survival-type logic." She smiled in an effort to appear disarming. "I guess that's what men call man-type thinking."

He growled. "Come on, you sexy broad. Let's eat so we'll have some time for screwing!"

She got supper ready, pausing from time to time to enjoy one of Art's lewd caresses, and they ate quickly. Art helped her with the dishes, and while she was polishing the sink and cabinet he began to unbutton her dress. She gave herself up to a delicious, all-over tingle and completed her work with a hasty swipe of the cloth. Hanging it over the faucet, she turned to face her husband.

Art pushed her dress off her shoulders and she let it slide to the floor, remembering how her dressing gown had fallen beside the bathtub. She watched Art's jaw twitch as he unfastened her bra and pulled it away from her breasts. And she rested the heels of her hands on the cabinet and leaned back, the cold edge pressing into the small of her back while Art closed his lips over one puckered nipple. When he straightened, his hands already rolling down the top of her panties, he sighed gustily.

"I'm going to like the new Helen best of all," he said.

"Me too!" Helen shivered.

The telephone rang at precisely the moment that Helen drew her foot out of her panties. She wrinkled her nose.

Art swore. "Oh, shit! Now what?"

"I'll get it, honey."

"Well… Okay, but I'll go with you."

When she picked up the receiver, he stood behind her. She leaned against him and he cupped his hands over her breasts, kneading gently.

"Hello?"

"Hi. This is Van."

"Oh! Hi, Van."

"Helen, Barry and I were wondering if you and Art would like to come over for some games tonight."

Helen repeated the message to Art. He hesitated.

"I'm not too eager about it right now," he said. "It's up to you, though."

She spoke into the mouthpiece. "Van, would you be awfully upset if we took a raincheck?"

"No, I guess not. Say, did Art tell you what happened this afternoon?"

"No."

"One of those pipes in the upstairs bathroom ruptured. The place was flooded! I had to call a plumber, and there were three of them here all afternoon running copper tubing. Art and I spent five hours trying to save everything that was wet. Tell him, 'Thanks again!'"