Chapter 3

Everything felt wrong.

The carpet under my feet was crunchy. It was dry, and cracked under my toes. The woolly fibers crumbled to sand with a single step, leaving nothing but grains in my footprint. Wind blew through the house from every direction, tossing the granules of dust into the air.

The sky outside my window was as black as night. There was no sunlight to speak of, yet my arms and legs cast long, crooked shadows on the wall behind me. They were completely unrecognizable. I raced down the hallway, chased into the darkness by a grotesque menagerie of twisted black shapes.

In the hallway, I was flanked on all sides by wooden picture frames that melted into the drywall. The photos contained within them, I did not recognize. They were all tattered and torn, fluttering pitifully in the whipping winds that blew down the narrow corridor— seemingly from every direction at once.

In the kitchen, the ceramic tiles shattered under my feet as though they were made of glass. The fragments they left behind began to rattle, shaken by a sudden, menacing quake. My legs and feet weighed a thousand pounds; each leaden step left a deep imprint that persisted amongst a sea of shards; my blood was the glue that held their perimeter in place.

I knew that if I could just make it outside, I would be fine. I did not know where that knowledge stemmed from, but I trusted it implicitly.

I threw open the patio door and exited the house. There were no trees, no clouds, and no ground to speak of. The world around me had vanished, swallowed whole by the endless void that surrounded the house. Both it and I were suspended outside of time.

My feet did not have a chance to touch the patio; I floated free from the ground as soon as I crossed the threshold to the outside world. I threw my arms about, hoping to direct my aimless ascent, but it was fruitless. I floated above the house, its brick walls displaying the decay one would expect in an ancient tomb.

I watched the structure that I knew so well collapse in on itself. As though a black hole had opened up in the middle of our living room, our home became the very whirlwind of brick and mortar that was swallowing it up. Once it was gone, there would be nothing left.

“hOnEy?”

I scanned the blackness around me, but saw nothing.

“HoNeY?”

I saw nothing, but I felt everything -- no, not everything. I felt the only thing that mattered to me.

I felt Mom.

She snapped her fingers in front of my face, pulling me from my nightmare. “Honey!”

My eyelids snapped open like blinds. My retinas were immediately pierced by the morning sun. The world existed again. The colour, the smells, and the sounds were all back to normal. The only abnormal thing was having my mother deliver an early morning wakeup call from under the covers.

She was tucked under the sheets with me, her body resting on top of mine like a security blanket. I thought I was a light sleeper, but clearly had not stirred when she’d slipped under the covers.

I grumbled, stretching the life back into my limbs. “Where are we?”

Mom kissed my cheek. “In bed, duh. Bad dream?”

“Yeah, but it had a nice ending.” I did not want to bore Mom with details, but it was safe to say that the only pleasant part about my morning thus far had been waking up to her. “I had an alarm set for nine. Are you early or something?”

Mom grinned sheepishly. “A little bit, I think.”

That turned out to be the understatement of the year. I checked the time on my phone, then I cried in disbelief. “It’s seven-thirty! Mom, you promised!”

She knew I would push back -- I was not traditionally keen to wake up at the crack of dawn -- but before the realization could settle in, Mom was already planting dozens of wet, tender kisses along my neck.

She donned her sweetest voice, pouring sugar over her words so they went down smoother. “Do you want Mommy to leave?” she mewled. She was intentionally blurring the line between mother and girlfriend.

As my faculties returned to me, noticed that Mom was dressed – or rather, not dressed – for the occasion.

I finally clued in to the stifling heat grinding against my thigh. I do not know how I had missed it, but the sensation of Mom’s soft, fluffy pubic hair tickling my leg was suddenly all I could focus on.

“Wait, are you naked?”

Mom sported a devilish grin and signaled for me to lift the blanket off of us. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”

I pried open the covers and craned my neck so I could see past Mom’s head. I did not need the visual confirmation, but I wanted it badly. She was kind enough to turn her head to the side, giving me a glimpse of her grinding against my leg. Her legs were intertwined with mine, putting her pussy in the perfect position to rub against my bare thigh.

I was still having trouble coming to terms with reality. “You’re naked.”

“I’m naked, honey. You’ve got a naked Mommy lying on you, and there’s nothing you can do about it!” She laughed like a cartoon supervillain. “Speaking of naked...”

Mom placed another loud, juicy kiss on my cheek, then scuttled under the covers, out of view. In a flash, she hooked her thumbs under my boxers and yanked them off, leaving me equally nude. “There! Isn’t that better?”

Either I had woken up with morning wood, or my body was reacting instinctively to Mom’s powerful aura. Her mere teasing was enough to turn cogs that had previously turned for nobody.

Mom purred happily from below the covers. “Looks like somebody else is happy to see me, too.”

One finger at a time, Mom gingerly wrapped her digits around the base of my cock. I was so hard that it was glued to my stomach, but she gently pulled until it was sticking straight up in the air. If she had let go, it would have slapped against my belly again, so she was sure to keep her grip firm.

Mom tucked her other hand beneath my balls, forming a cup. Raising her hand up ever so slightly, she cradled them in her palm like they were fragile bird eggs, lightly brushing her thumb over the smooth surface. I felt secure in her hands; she knew exactly how to handle me. It had been less than twenty-four hours since she had touched me sexually for the first time, but somehow it felt natural.

A loud, bubbly gurgle told me she was gathering up a glob of spit in her mouth. With my dick pointed in the air, she dribbled it onto the tip. Using her hand, she spread it around until it evenly coated the whole head. Thanks to that thick, glossy sheen, I felt every nerve ending scream out when she blew a stream of cool air over the inflated knob.

I needed an explanation as to why my skeleton wanted to jump out of my skin. “Oh my god, that feels amazing. What are you doing?”

“Just making sure he’s nice and wet before I put him in my mouth,” Mom hummed without a care in the world. One might be forgiven for thinking she was discussing dinner plans, but the reality was far more vulgar.

“Before you ... wait, what?”

Mom giggled from her hiding place below the duvet. “You should probably get your camera ready for this next part, honey.”

I flung open the covers, stripping Mom of the one thing keeping her modest. I did not need to guess any longer; I saw for myself that she, with my dick and balls clutched in her hands, was hovering her lips a mere inch from the head of my cock. Her lips were parted so that her tongue could hang lazily from her open mouth.

She looked like a lapdog begging for a treat. “Does that look good?”

I was frozen in place. “Fucking spectacular.”

“In that case: geeeet your caaaaamera oooooout.” Mom sung her demand, using the head of my dick as a microphone. She was being playful, but was deadly serious about her request.

I quickly did as she bade. POV shots were easy to frame; the hard part was stopping my hands from shaking while I recorded. I turned it on and gave her the thumbs up.

Mom cooed, gently stroking my cock with her gaze transfixed on the camera lens. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Good morning, Mommy.” My heart soared as I spoke those innocuous words, knowing the true depravity of the meaning they carried.

She kissed the underside of my cock, then let her tongue flop out of her mouth. It hung down to her chin, making a runway to welcome me in. She tasted me like an ice pop, slowly letting her taste buds brush over me one at a time.

Mom licked her lips. “Mmm, salty.”

“Is that bad?”

Mom thought to herself for a moment, then decided that she needed another taste to make up her mind. She dipped back down and flattened her tongue against the head, rubbing it back and forth along the bottom a couple times. “No, not bad. I kind of like it.”

Mom pursed her lips to plant delicate smooches over the engorged helmet. After that, she assaulted my cock head with a barrage of sloppy kisses, each one wetter and more frantic than the last. With each kiss she delivered, she opened her mouth a little bit more, gradually parting her lips to accept more of the head into her mouth. She basted it with even more saliva in the meantime, her tongue darting out every so often to check the salinity.

Mom ushered another glob of spit to the front of her mouth and drooled it onto the head, watching with fascination as the foam dripped down the sides. The bubbles melted down the length, dripping down my shaft until they met her closed fist wrapped around the root. She squeezed tight to stop the flow of slimy goo from running any further. Once a small pool had collected at the top of her hand, she transitioned to a corkscrew motion as she lifted it towards the head. Saliva lubricated her ascent, so she easily glided up the length of my cock until the head was secured within her palm.

The bulging, pink head in her clenched fist looked like the pistil of a precious flower, with her lily-white fingers acting as the beautiful petals. With just the head sticking out of her slippery mitt, Mom brought her lips down to greet it. She pursed them against the tip, blessing the crown with a tiny kiss. Then she opened her jaw, sliding her lips over the fat bulb to swallow the whole thing at once. It remained in her mouth for only a moment -- long enough for her to timidly nurse on the puffy head a couple of times.

She released it with a plop, hardly affording me the time to relish the wet, heated den, then turned her attention elsewhere. ”Your balls look awfully cold, honey.”

“They do?”

Mom nodded her head in an exaggerated fashion, knowing the hint had gone over my head. “Uh-huh. Don’t you think so?”

I tried my hardest to play along. “Oh, yeah. I think you’re right.”

“Should Mommy put them somewhere cozy to keep them warm?” She pleaded with her eyes, as though nothing in the world would make her happier in that moment than to have a pair of balls in her mouth.

“Holy fuck, yes!”

She shuffled further down the bed, granting her easier access to my balls. She used a hand to corral them, gathering both of them in her palm to tug them away from my body. Her soft, bumpy tongue lapped against the swollen eggs, tickling them with what was to come.

Mom pushed on the back of my balls with two fingers, nudging one of them forward so she could wrap her lips around it. With patient suction, she slurped on the fat plum and gently popped it inside. Her noisy suckling was silenced as soon as her lips made an airtight seal around it. She opened her mouth wide, loudly sucking in air as she used her fingers to ease my other ball into her mouth, packing it in tightly against the first. Her maw was stuffed to the brim, forcing her cheeks to puff out like a chipmunk to accommodate both of them. They fit inside, but just barely.

I had seen people undergo the “Chubby Bunny” challenge on the internet before, wherein one tried to stuff their mouth with marshmallows and try to say the titular phrase as many times as they could before their mouths were too full. I figured since Mom was halfway there already – though with a decidedly adult twist – we should have some fun with it.

“Is your mouth full, Mommy?” I teased, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes.

Mom nodded happily, her throat gurgling as she fought to speak around the mass of meat. “Eh ih fuww!” Her cheerful response pushed saliva from her bulging lips; it bubbled and oozed from the corners of her mouth. Nothing she did could stop her from drooling.

Inside Mom’s mouth, her tongue fluttered against my balls. She poked and prodded them, examining her captured prey. Her lips nursed greedily around the base of my balls like she was sucking on a baby bottle. The comparison was accurate in more ways than one; her eyes were closed, betraying a state of absolute bliss.

Longing for air, Mom widened her jaw and sucked in a loud, messy breath through the spit soaked cracks. Slowly, as though she did not truly want to relinquish me, she used her tongue to push the fat orbs forward, ushering them out of her mouth. A long, glistening strand of saliva kept the two of us connected, leading from my balls all the way to her quivering lips.

Mom had completed her tentative lap, familiarizing herself with the touch and taste of my cock before she dove in headfirst. After the previous night, and her inspired wake-up call, I knew she was growing accustomed to touching me, but a blowjob felt different. To take me into her mouth was a display of devotion like no other. To flood her sense of taste, touch, and smell with my manhood was nothing short of sincere servitude, and a pleasure that no mother should ever give to her own son.

“Ready to see if Mommy still has what it takes?” She was ready; I could see it in her eyes.

“To do what?”

“To make you cum, silly!” she taunted. “Mama used to be pretty darn good at this. Wanna see how long you can last in my mouth?”

“I thought you were inexperienced with all this?”

She suddenly seemed very sure of herself. “Oh, honey. That was with my hands. I never used them much; I’ve always been more of a mouth gal.”

It was bizarre to hear Mom disclose her preferred method for making men cum, but as long as I was to be at the receiving end, I was willing to overlook a lot of awkwardness – not to mention the fact that she’d just sold herself as some kind of a blowjob queen. I had already been on the edge of my seat before she’d hyped herself up. After that, my excitement tripled. I couldn’t wait for her to deliver.

Mom held my cock firmly in place with her face hovering above it, staring down at her meal before she devoured it. She formed a circle with her lips that was just wide enough to fit the tip, making a snug ring that stretched around the knob as she worked her way down. Her tongue gently battered it on all sides, treating it to an assortment of licks and nudges before she found a comfortable spot on the underside of my dick to flatten it against.

As her mouth worked its way down, she paused every couple of inches to go back and forth over the same spot a handful of times – mini-blowjobs as preludes to the full treatment. Thusly she ushered my cock fully into her mouth, then further into the confines of her throat, intently basting the length with saliva on her way down.

Not every pause was a tease; every so often, she had to take a moment to steady her resolve. She stifled the urge to gag time and time again, but she did not break eye contact with the camera a single time. It was long before her left eye was twitching uncontrollably. Her sputtering throat sent speckles of saliva onto my tummy, and her breathing was laboured, but she refused to look away. The power of her eye contact had me in a trance. I was completely captivated, helpless against the expert manipulations of her mouth, tongue, and fixed stare.

Her grip on my balls was still firm, but they felt completely safe in her hands. She tugged gently on the sack slowly and rhythmically. Between her loud, spastic gurgling and the chaotic, random dips of her head, those tender tugs were the only constant. Like the waves of the ocean, they were as comforting as they were predictable.

With a mighty heave, Mom drove the last few inches of my throbbing cock into her gullet. Her left eye went from twitching to violently fluttering as she struggled to accommodate me. Her throat produced loud, wretched gurgles as she fought against her body’s cries for air.

“You can do it, Mom,” I said.

Her lips trembled around the root, but remained in place. She ignored the tiny tear that trickled out of corner of her eye, wearing it as a badge of honor. Having her mouth stuffed to the gills made it impossible for her to control the flow of saliva trickling out of the loose seal. The juicy stream ran down, cascading over my balls. They were cocooned in her small, clenched fist, but the drool managed to seep through the cracks of her fingers.

“Move your hand,” I commanded sternly.

As though she had been waiting for such a demand all along, Mom pulled her hand away from my balls in a heartbeat. She was no longer holding my cock upright, which left the walls of her throat as the only thing keeping my raging erection in place. Without her there, its rigidity would have driven it directly against my stomach.

Every flex made my dick lurch against the front of her throat. The bloated head pulsated within the sweltering depths, pushing outward in all directions as it grew in size. Mom’s eyes bugged out so dramatically that I wondered if the powerful swelling could be seen from the outside. I imagined a bulge in her neck, as though a balloon was inflating inside it.