("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: thebath.txt (F/m, inc) Authors name: Cassiegrrrl (Address withheld by request) Story title : Bath - A Mother and Son Story -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- The Bath - A Mother and Son Story (F/m, inc) By Cassiegrrrl (Address withheld by request) *** Carol hadn't had sex since her husband Ray had left more than four years ago. Strange as it sounds, the thing that finally brought her celibacy to an end was her son breaking his leg. *** 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 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life in anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider seeking professional help. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 17