Chapter 2

It took a couple of days for the incident to blow over. At first, Mom and I tread lightly around each other. There were no hurt feelings, but the supercharged emotions in the bathroom had put her in a state of caution. I certainly understood why.

I obsessively read through the comments every day. Subscriptions poured in overnight, and I had the bright idea to upload half of the shower scene as “bonus content” for viewers who were willing to pay extra. Nearly every single member paid for the bonus content, and most of them had incredibly glowing things to say about my mother.

I parsed through them, selected the ones that I knew she would appreciate, and saved them to my phone in case she ever asked about the reception. I hadn’t expected that that day would come anytime soon, but the fact that it did indicated that Mom was having a similar difficulty moving on.

After nearly two days without mentioning the subject, Mom finally cracked at the dinner table and asked, “Are the videos doing well?” She did not even look up from her bowl of soup.

“The ... ah, yes, the videos.” I’d known that the moment was coming, but that did not stop my pulse from racing as soon as she’d broached the topic. “People really seem to like them.”

Mom blew on a steaming spoonful of soup with a cheeky grin. “Really? How much?”

“I think we’re past a hundred subscribers by now.” I explained the bonus content to her, and how many people had paid for it.

Mom struggled to wrap her head around such a large number, but was more than happy with the results. “So, they’re already paying to see me, but they paid extra for that video? This is why you do all the internet stuff.”

Her sincere praise would fuel me for the following two weeks, throughout the rollout of new content that had people chomping at the bit. Every couple of days, I uploaded a new photo or a new clip to keep people entertained. Eventually, as I expected, the well ran dry and her fans cried out for new scenes.

There was one last video in the vault, and after it went live we would be fresh out of content to feed the insatiable masses. I was not sure if it was the right time to approach Mom about creating more, but, I figured it was a conversation we were going to have eventually anyway.

She had her feet in my lap one night, watching yet another gripping episode of The Bachelor, when I subtly brought it up. I laid out the predicament without being too pushy. I explained that the archives were empty, and we needed to make more if we wanted to keep going. Without even taking her eyes off the screen, Mom signed up.

I required a double confirmation before I felt safe pitching ideas for new scenes. “You don’t mind? If it’s too soon, just tell me.”

Mom shot me a look of confusion. “Of course I want to make more! This is the best I’ve felt about myself in years. Why would I give that up?”

“I just thought you might be getting cold feet?” I hated playing devil’s advocate against my own cause. “After what happened in the bathroom last time—”

“I understand,” Mom said, cutting me off abruptly, “but I processed it. I think I may have overreacted a little. Can we just agree: no more surprises?”

I humbly agreed.

She used her toes to point at my phone on the armrest of the couch, eager to brush past the hiccup. “Did we get any new comments?”

“Yeah, a couple.” I pulled up the curated collection and handed her my phone. The pure joy that spread across her face was serotonin for my soul.

She swiped through the extensive list, growing more jubilant with every scroll. “So, the money is good?”

“The money is ... pretty good, yeah.”

That was technically true, but we needed it to be great. To pay for school, we needed to pull in a whole slew of new subscribers, and ideally get most of them to pay even more money. That didn’t just mean putting out content more frequently. It meant escalating. Food, rent, and other necessities would always come first, but we – I – needed more. I didn’t know if Mom was ready for that, but I knew that I was on a deadline.

Until then, I thought it best to let her adjust to a daily life of naked photography without such a burden hanging overhead. We spent the rest of the month producing photos and videos that were similarly provocative to our old stuff. It was all nudity, but compared to what other creators were making, it was actually quite tame.

The shoots were mostly just her playing with her breasts in different locations, wearing different outfits, and using different “dressings.” We had her garden in the nude, do naked yoga in the sun, cover her boobs in honey and chocolate sauce (a fan request), and even go in the park when we were sure nobody was around. There were also many, many more videos of her showering – so many that we found it pertinent to invest in a waterproof camera so we could get some truly unique angles.

After the incident in the bathroom, Mom imposed a hard limit on me physically touching her, as though she were afraid that giving me an inch would undoubtedly lead to me taking a mile. The rules were simple; if she said no, it meant no. To me, that sounded like permission to ask every once in a while. My insistence paid off eventually, when she finally allowed me to oil her shoulders and back before a shoot in a new bikini.

Each time she allowed me to touch her, I pushed the envelope a little further. I explored her body like I was drawing a map of the new world. I was never permitted to touch the places that I truly sought, but told myself that every advancement in our complex relationship was worth savouring.

Over time, the stigma of my hands on her body became something we cared about less and less. Our operation functioned like a business, and with that casually physical relationship came diminished resistance when I would occasionally test her limits.

The month ended, leaving us with a sizable portion of dedicated followers that rabidly devoured every video we posted. Even the extra content for VIP members saw strong traction. We were doing well, but not well enough. All we had done was prolong the inevitable; I was still going to have to drop out by the end of the semester.

I was too embarrassed to ask anything more of Mom. She had given me so much, and I feared that the revelation that it hadn’t been enough would hit her hard ... I wasn’t even sure what I would ask of her, were I to muster the courage to do so. She had already said no to putting her pussy on camera for a second time, so our options were limited.

The night when we finally tallied up the math was a somber one.

Mom paced the floor of the living room, biting her cuticles in frustration. “We need to do more. If we just keep making the same old stuff, we’ll keep making the same old money.”

I took an intentionally long swig from my beer, letting her marinate on the thought. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well ... we could do something in public again? Maybe more risqué?”

I raised an eyebrow. “More risqué? As in, your pussy?”

Mom rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen. She reappeared with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses, their etchings a reminder of the vacation she and Dad had taken to Monaco for their honeymoon.

Mom poured two shots, though mine was decidedly larger than hers. “We need to think, which means we need to drink.” We clinked the glasses and threw the putrid gasoline down our throats.

“I think—” I coughed on the vile liquid still clinging to my throat. “Oh, God, that burns. I think that I’ve done my share of thinking. What do you think, Mom?”

Mom gave me an intimidating stare. “I already told you what I think about putting my vagina on camera again. Do you need a reminder?”

I held up my hands defensively. “I’m just putting it out there.”

“Why don’t you expose yourself, huh? Put yourself in my shoes and see how you like it.”

I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

The liquor had gone to my head faster than I’d expected. Mom thought I was kidding, but I doubled down on the bargain just to show her how serious I was. I was certain that she would never take me up on it.

“I appreciate the solidarity, honey, but nobody is going to pay to see your penis.” Mom gasped when she realized what she’d just said. “Oh, no! Not like that! I just mean that they’re subscribing for me. I don’t think they want to see a naked man, you know?”

“No offence taken -- and you’re right; they won’t pay to see my dick ... but they will pay to watch you stroking it.”

Mom buckled over with laughter. Once she had wiped the tears from her eyes, she poured us another helping of vodka. “Good one, honey.” She held up the shot glass. When I did not reach for mine, she looked up quizzically. The look in my eyes told her right away how serious I was. Her demeanour changed in an instant. “Eric, are you being serious?”

“Listen, I’m not over here begging you to jerk me off, but, if you want results, this is how we get them.”

I lamented on the oversaturation of the market -- how so many women were posting solo content that it made it hard to stand out amongst all the noise. We had a foothold, but needed to catapult it into something bigger.

I admitted to the direct messages that I had kept hidden. In part, I had wanted to shield Mom from their vulgarity, But there’d been something else that had set them apart from the ones I’d first revealed. Every single on of them had requested the same thing.

<When u gone be wit a guy??> –MilfLover1988

<Would Love 2 See Couples Content... > –DFWdaddio

<Great vid! Need to see her get fucked hard!> –KinkyPengiun69

They were far from poetic, but their message was clear: people were willing to pay big money to see Mom get physical, but that was a hurdle she had not even considered crossing.

I fed the synopsis to her speechless stare. “They just want to see you do stuff with a guy.”

“Which guy?” Mom blurted out.

“I don’t think they care.”

She cradled her arms to her chest and plopped down on the sofa next to me. “Well, I do care! I don’t want to look for some random guy with a random dick for me to start jerking, or sucking, whatever.”

I gave her a cheesy grin, but she still was not buying it. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to look very far.” When she did not catch my drift, I continued. “I touch you all the time, don’t I? You seem comfortable with it. In fact, you kind of seem to like it!”

Mom tensed up, curling her toes until they cracked. She was too ashamed to admit it, but her blushing told me everything I needed to know. “Massaging my shoulders and legs is not the same, honey. You know that, don’t you?”

“Nobody will know!”

“I will,” Mom said with a wince. “We will, honey.”

I threw up my hands in defeat, unsure of how to proceed. “You’re right, but we need to do something. We can’t keep crossing stuff off the list without adding something to it.”

Mom was quiet for a long time. The ticking of the clock overhead filled the passing seconds, but as it ticked past a full minute, I wondered if she was ever going to rouse from her self-imposed coma.

Light flashed behind her eyes, waking her from her deep, troubling daydream. With the resilience of a coal miner, Mom downed both of the shots she had poured and turned to me with renewed resolve.

Mom covered her mouth to stifle a small hiccup. “Fuck it. Let’s just fucking do it.”

“Wait, Mom. We don’t have to—”

“Stop, stop.” She recoiled in disgust, unwilling to mull it over for a second longer. The heinous double shot of vodka – combined with her acquiescence to giving her son a handjob on camera – contorted her face into a portrait of pained reluctance. “If I think about it too long, I’m going to get scared and change my mind.”

“I don’t want to push you into anything.”

Mom stood up from the couch and smoothed down the wrinkles on the front of her skirt. “You aren’t. Sitting here, just now, I accepted that I probably will have to do this with you at some point.”

“But—”

Mom held up a hand, cutting me short. “I’m not going to be able to sleep right if this is on my mind. If you’re able to, let’s just do it tonight.”

I was at a loss for words.

Mom took a deep breath, nodding softly to me while she breathed it out. After all my fantasizing, it was surreal that she had ended up being the one to talk me into having my dick stroked. “Will you get your camera, and the mineral oil, then meet me in the living room?”

My brain was running at half speed, but there was no time to update. “Get ... camera ... I will.” I pushed through the fog and stumbled towards my bedroom.

Minutes later, I entered the empty living room. I half expected Mom to leap out from behind a curtain, revealing that it had been a prank designed to crush my dreams just moments after igniting them. Every fiber of my being was on edge waiting for her to join me. I tried to open my phone and distract myself, but my hands were shaking so badly that the fingerprint reader would not even recognize me.

Mom’s dainty footsteps began their slow walk down the hallway. The long, lingering space between each step implied her hesitance. Several agonizing seconds later, she appeared in the door wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of cozy pajama shorts that hugged her ass like a second skin. She looked mousy, yet ferocious.

“Hey,” she whispered, chewing on the corner of her mouth. “You ready to do this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I flicked on the TV, which earned me a quizzical look. “Oh, I think it’s more authentic this way. It’s like we were sitting around watching television and you couldn’t help but, you know...”

Mom scoffed at the preposterous implication. “I just couldn’t help but jerk you off, hmm?” The absurdity of the situation was inherently comical, and it broke the ice between us. “Am I, like, your wife in this scenario?”

I grinned sheepishly. “Performing your wifely duties, I guess?”

“Duties?” Mom echoed sardonically. “You know, I never did this for your father.” She chuckled before clarifying. “I mean, I obviously touched it, but we never sat down for a formal hand job with oil and stuff.”

I grinned from ear to ear. “Like we’re about to do?”

She rolled her eyes. “Try to be a little less excited, honey. The last time I gave one of these was in high school, for crying out loud, so lower your expectations!”

“Lucky guy,” I remarked, totally not the least bit jealous.

She stomped her foot. “As if! I was as nervous back then as I am now!”

I immediately felt a twinge of guilt in my heart that nipped my teasing in the bud. “If you’re nervous, we don’t have to do this.”

She sat on the couch next to me and folded my hand in her lap. Her thumbs massaged circles into my palm. “Honey, you need to accept that there are many, many pieces of me that do not want to do any of this with you. You’re my son, and it feels like we’re defying some natural law by letting this thing continue, but...”

I waited for the other shoe to drop.

“ ... like it or not you awoke something in me.” Mom nudged my shoulder with hers. “This is the most amazing I’ve felt about myself – and my body – in years. I’m curious, and that excites me as much as it scares me, but with you, more than any man in my life before, I want to embrace it.”

I bent my neck and touched our foreheads together. “I believe you.”

“I love you, Eric.” Her voice was rich with sincerity.

“I love you too, Sharon.” I knew that was a risky advancement, but it was a night of risks.

She shook her head in protest, but could not help from cracking a smile. “Oh, no, honey. It’s always going to be ‘Mommy’ to you.”

Icy tingles erupted from my spine, their frigid aura surging all the way to the tips of my fingers. Something deep and dark in my psyche thrived on hearing her talk like that. In that moment, I would have given her anything she’d asked for. Lucky for me, what she was in search of was already trying to burst out of the front of my shorts.

Mom focused on my erection and narrowed her eyes. “Looks like he wants to start right away. Getting hard while Mommy is right next to you? Such a naughty boy.”

I grabbed the camera and held it up by my chin, trying to mimic my real life point of view so the video would look convincing. “You better start quick, before I explode in my pants!”

Mom scampered onto her knees and tucked herself between my legs with a hand on either side of my waistband. She waited for her cue, and once I gave it, she got to work.

She locked eyes with the lens, beginning a staring contest with the viewer on the other side. Her mouth was turned up in a curious half smile that grew larger as more of my crotch was revealed. When she pulled the waistband past the head of my dick, my fully formed hard-on broke free of its prison and slapped angrily against my stomach.

She gave a startled squeak, her eyes wide with shock as she gazed upon the full length – not just fully revealed, but fully erect. “You’re so... hard. Is that all for me?”

I swallowed my mounting anxiety. Mom played her role expertly. Every lavish seduction she was performing for her audience was working double on me; I had never been so close to having an out of body experience.

Mom popped open the bottle of mineral oil. She held her hand flat, making a show of drizzling a long stream into her palm from a great height. The thin waterfall formed a pool in her hand; once she was satisfied with its size, she used her slippery mitt to coat the other until both were equally smothered.

She timidly wrapped one hand around the base of my cock. Her grip, firm yet tender, set off alarm bells in my brain. No matter how much her hand trembled, her fingers stayed tightly secured around me. Her fingers encircled the root, sending a rush of blood upwards that inflated the bulging helmet. It pulsed with excitement, and below it, the shaft kept growing Mom’s tiny hand. Following her instincts, she closed her fist around the head and gave it a gentle squeeze.

I moaned like a stuck pig. I could not help it; I melted when she touched me. Her slimy paws fondled me with unbound curiosity, venturing with no real motive or direction. It was clear that she was unsure of her abilities, but praise in the form of my incessant moaning served to bring out her confidence.

Mom tightened her grip around the head, then twisted her wrist like a corkscrew. Her movements lacked skill, but she made up for it with heartfelt enthusiasm.

I was in no mental state to offer notes, but in hindsight, Mom had a good sense of when experimentation needed to progress to something more goal-oriented. She added her other hand to the mix and formed a tunnel with her fists. Then she fed my cock through a kaleidoscope of slimy fingers in long, unbroken strokes. Each digit seemed to be guided by a mind of its own, and yet Mom’s hands and elbows kept them all working to the same rhythm and towards the same end. It was a heady mixture of repetition and surprise, and all thoughts of teasing her for her inexperience melted into goo and leaked out of my ears.

Mom knew how to manipulate me by that point. Both fists plummeted to the bottom, viciously strangling the root. Just as it had before – and just as she had expected -- the bulb grew to its fullest, shining with a smear of oil so thick that she risked being blinded by the light reflecting off the smooth, glassy surface. Then she offered up yet another surprise; she pointed me towards her lips, formed her mouth into an “O,” and ushered a fat gob of foamy spit into the middle of the circle. It fell from her lips and landed on the head, where it began to drip down the sides.

Before the drool had a chance to run down to her fingers, Mom used it to her advantage. With one of her hands still pinned to the base of my cock, pulling the loose skin as tight as it would go, Mom used the other to deftly smother the head in her homemade lube. Saliva squelched between her fingers, oozing through the cracks.

She worked like she was churning butter, dutifully applying her affection to the entire length with a rhythm that came all too naturally. “Is that good, honey?”

“Fuck, yes!”

“What about this?” she asked, then blew a stream of cool air over my oil-soaked dong.

Trapped in her clutches, I was forced to endure the chill blowing over my slickened skin. It made me clench up, which in turn made my dick, once again a prisoner of both of her hands, throb like it was trying to brute-force its way out.

Mom’s jaw dropped open. “Whoa! Can you make him do that again?”

“This?” I clenched as hard as I could, hoping to impress her. The swelling of my cock elicited such glee that it only made her squeeze tighter.

“Oh my God! It’s like he’s alive!” Mom’s jaw hung open; her eyes were the size of football fields. She let go with one hand so that she could trace one of the fat, blue veins that stretched from the root all the way up to the head. Her touch tickled me, prompting my cock to seize up.

I had never been so hard in my entire life; my dick was made of steel. I barely recognized it, but I was extremely familiar with the woman at the end of it, purring like a happy kitten.

She effortlessly jerked me off with one hand, which was more than enough. She did not pause, preferring to subject me to an endless onslaught of tight, slippery tugs, each of which tended to my entire length on their way down. Her long, snug stroking put to shame every single one of my sex toys, and I wondered how I would ever return to them.

Mom’s free hand rested on my thigh, making a shelf upon which she could rest her head. She gazed deep into the camera and, by extension, my eyes. The way she cast her gaze upwards to meet mine, her eyes swooning with love, was the most powerful drug I had ever known.

She kissed my thigh, sucking gingerly to ensure a pink mark would be left behind. “Tell Mommy what to do next, honey.”

“B–both h–h–hands,” I whined desperately.

Mom lifted her head off of her arm and straightened her back. She placed both hands around the root of my cock like she was going use it to stir a gigantic pot of soup. Her hands easily glided to the head, basting every inch along the way. It became impossible to tell one hand from the other as I melted into her ministrations.

When it felt like I was about to explode, she slowed down. The piston in her hands radiated pure energy, but she knew how to handle it. Her strokes ground to halt; my cock throbbed eagerly, begging her to resume the slippery massage.

Mom pulled one of her hands off of me. She quickly slid it underneath my balls, palm facing upwards, cupping my sack. She gave it a reassuring squeeze, then made a ring around the base with her thumb and pointer finger, which held it in place at the very center of her oily hand. With her other fingers, she gingerly tickled. Electricity crackled through my skin as her nails lightly brushed over me, each one leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. My balls, and my mortal soul, were ready to dissolve in her hands— but she had other plans.