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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Minding Mike
by Paddy Toute (paddy22@aol.com)

***

A helpful neighbor lady is there when a young 
recuperating teenage boy really needed her. (F/m-teen, 
mast, voy, invalid)

***

"Could you stay for an hour or so and watch over Mike 
while I go and do my shopping?"

The question came from my best friend, June. I was round 
at her house for a coffee.

Mike, her 16 year-old son, was recovering from a nasty 
accident at work.  Some acid had been knocked over on to 
his bench and had spilled, resulting in nasty burns to 
his hands and lower legs. He had come out of hospital 
that morning and was in bed getting some sleep.

"Sure, why not," I said. I'd known June since childhood, 
and there's little we wouldn't do for each other.

"The nurses at the hospital said he'd be quite sleepy 
most of the day, so he shouldn't give you any problems. 
He shouldn't get hungry or thirsty, and if he needs to 
pee, there's a bottle under the bed."

June left, and I switched on the kettle to make another 
coffee. I went in to Mike's bedroom to check on him. 
Sure enough, he was asleep. I stood there for a moment, 
watching, thinking how much he had changed in the last 
couple of years. He had always been a slender child, and 
remained so as a teenager, his pale skin contrasting 
sharply with his dark hair, eyebrows and long lashes.

I went back into the kitchen, made my tea and switched 
on the television.  I was surfing various channels in a 
vain attempt to find something worth watching when  I 
heard Mike's voice from the bedroom.

"Mom? MOM? Are you there?"

Damn, I thought. I must have woken him when I checked on 
him. I went through to the bedroom. He was sitting up in 
bed, and was, not surprisingly, a little startled to see 
me appear instead of his mother.

"Oh, it's you, Mrs. Johnson. Is mum around?"

I told him why I was there, and he wilted somewhat, 
apparently a little uncomfortable. After a couple of 
seconds' internal struggle, he said "I need to, erm, you 
know, go to the toilet. To wee."  His cheeks had 
reddened somewhat, and I felt sorry for him in his 
embarrassment.

"Oh, is that all?" I said, and stooped down to produce 
the bottle from under the bed. "There you go. I won't 
stay and watch" I said, putting the bottle beside him on 
the bed.

"Erm, thanks Mrs. Johnson," he said. "But there's 
another problem." And with this he pulled his hands from 
beneath the duvet. Despite his obvious discomfort, I had 
to stifle a laugh, because his hands were both bandaged 
up like something from a  cartoon. The burns he'd 
sustained must have been extensive, because from a 
couple of inches above his wrists downwards, he was a 
mass of white bandage. In fact, his spindly arms looked 
more like a couple of cotton buds than anything else. I 
did of course, now see his difficulty. There was no way 
he could manouvre his penis to the hole in the bottle, 
(an old-style milk bottle). I realised he would need a 
little assistance.  Mike's face was by now bright red, 
and he was looking anywhere in the room except at me.

I decided to adopt a brisk, workmanlike tone to try to 
defuse the situation.  "Mike, it's okay. I'm a mother 
too, remember? I'm sure it's nothing I haven't seen 
before. Let's get this over with, shall we?"  Without 
further ado, I flipped back the duvet to reveal Mike's 
reproductive equipment. 

His penis lay nestled against his thigh, curled up like 
some small creature hibernating for the winter.  Not for 
long, though. As I encircled it with my fingers and felt 
its warmth, I felt it start to enlarge, and at such a 
speed that I managed to get just the head into the neck 
of the bottle, but no more. It was jammed in there as 
tightly as any champagne cork. Not content with 
expanding, it was also lengthening. 

I let it go and watched, transfixed as the bottle began 
its journey down Mike's leg. Down and down it went, 
seemingly set on a collision course with his kneecap. It 
didn't make it (it stopped about half way down), but the 
show wasn't over yet. Now it began to rise off Mike's 
leg, and within a few seconds was practically at right 
angles to his supine body.

"Well, we do seem to have a problem, don't we?" I said. 
Mike was clearly acutely embarrassed. He didn't know 
where to look, but I knew he really needed to pee.

Taking a deep breath, I said, "Look, Mike. What I am 
about to do is to remain strictly private between 
ourselves. I am going to relieve your..  err..  problem 
in the best and quickest way I know."

And with that, I encircled Mike's shaft with my fist. 
Its warmth surprised me.  It had been so long since I 
actually touched my husband's penis with my hand. The 
nearest I usually got to it was when he tried to stick 
it in me on his return from the pub on Friday nights. It 
was as hard as marble, yet strangely soft against my 
skin, and I could feel it pulse in time to Mike's 
fluttering heartbeat.

Looking Mike in the eye, I began to slowly raise and 
lower my hand up and down his iron shaft. The bottle 
wobbled on the end, but Mike's purple head was jammed in 
there so tight, I realised it was going nowhere. I 
slowly increased the tempo of my ministrations, and 
noticed a subtle change in Mike. 

He no longer looked embarrassed and terrified, but was 
clearly enjoying this impromptu hand job. His eyes were 
closed, his head slightly over to one side, and a 
beatific smile played across his features. There was a 
slight flush in his cheeks, but I knew this was a sign 
of impending climax rather than anything else.  

His breathing quickened noticably, and I knew his end 
was near. I felt his shaft expand under my clenched, 
pumping fist, and for a bizarre moment found myself 
wondering what would happen if his penis head tried to 
expand further.  Would it break itself open, leaving him 
to bleed to death? Or would it shatter the bottle?  

Suddenly, I felt his penis jerk uncontrollably within my 
grasp, and Mike let out a groan. I watched, transfixed 
as his cock-hole, magnified by the bottle, winked, and 
shot out the first spurt of his seed. It splashed 
against the bottom of the bottle and began to run down 
the sides. Before it reached the bottom, it had been 
joined by three more splashes, and within seconds there 
was a pool of sperm at the neck of the bottle, around 
his penis head.

It wasn't many moments before Mike's stiff young penis 
began to deflate, and I was able to remove the bottle 
without spilling most of his seed. Fetching a cloth, I 
cleaned him up, hoping his mother wouldn't notice what 
had been going on when she bathed him later!

Soon, Mike was ready to pee, and so the bottle's 
contents were added to.  Mike, now relieved in more ways 
than one, was showing signs of embarrassment again. It 
must have been difficult for him. After all, it's not 
every day your mom's best friend comes into your bedroom 
and jacks you off into a milk bottle...

Back in the kitchen, I was sitting with my coat on 
awaiting June's return, drinking a remorseful cup of 
coffee, and trying to console myself with the thought 
that I had acted for the best back there, when she 
arrived. I hastily set my cup down, and made for the 
door.

"Hey, what's the rush?" asked June.

"Something came up. Gotta go," I said.

END

Transferred from brain to screen 28/29 April 1997

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 67