Chapter 5: Laundry

Yeah. When you have a son of a certain age living with you, it’s kind of hard to avoid the fact that he’s masturbating every chance he gets. Ours must do it at least 10 times a day, LOL. I don’t know if you’d necessarily say he’s “addicted” to masturbation; I know I was pretty compulsive about it at that age, too, but I turned out OK, I think. My wife and I try our best to keep a straight face whenever he walks into the living room with slightly flushed cheeks 5 minutes after we heard the squeaking noises from behind his closed bedroom door. Of course he thinks we suspect nothing...

My wife does his laundry and told me that half the things in his hamper, his shorts and his tops and his sheets and even his pillowcases(!) are regularly stained with white splotches. Sometimes they’re even still sticky. She commented wryly that he seems to think that anything tossed in the hamper just magically gets clean without every being touched by human hands or seen by human eyes. She likes to sort laundry by colors and read the care labels and other fancy stuff like that, so the sprog’s residual emissions all get the once-over.

One day she showed me a dark T-shirt of his with multiple stains in a straight line from the waist to the neckline. We had a good laugh together marveling at the sheer force and quantity of ejaculation necessary to leave a pattern like that. I remember joking that it must have been after a dry spell - maybe he’d only jerked off 5 times that day instead of 10.

The funny thing is that we both got kind of turned on talking about it. My wife is as much of a perv as I am and I recognized the signs of arousal, so since we were in the laundry room I made the excuse that I might as well put my clothes into the washer too and, on cue, she jokingly suggested we try to match the sprog’s record. That led to the two of us sitting next to each other on the laundry table with our pants off, masturbating. My wife was sitting on a dirty sheet and I still had my T-shirt on. The idea (not that we really discussed the rules in detail; we think alike, we didn’t have to!) was that I’d try to come as high up on my shirt as I could, and she’d try to squirt as far down the sheet as she could, and also we’d each try not to come first.

After a while I was getting close and, not wanting to finish first, I played a dirty trick - I took the sprog’s dirty T-shirt and stuffed it, cumstains first, right into her face. She gasped and couldn’t help taking a deep breath, then made a funny noise and started moaning and breathing hard, so I held the shirt against her face, forcing her to breathe in our son’s scent. Giving up the attempt to be come second, she decided to go for distance and frigged herself to a tremendous splashy finish. When she was done, there was no question that the wet splotches on the sheet went far further than the stains on our son’s shirt; indeed they went further than the length of my own shirt, so I declared her the winner, no contest.

Of course she wasn’t going to let me get away with this and grabbed the sprog’s shirt and stuck it into my face. I pretended to struggle and fight it but, to be honest, I was too turned on to be turned off, if you know what I mean. I breathed through the sweaty shirt and pretended to be helpless as my wife grabbed my erection with her other hand. I couldn’t really discern any special smell from the cumstains; I guess they were too dry. But just the awareness that they were touching my face (and my beloved was holding them there) was enough to drive me fucking crazy and when she finally made me come, after a few minutes of maddening starts and stops, I redeemed myself distance-wise by getting it not just on my shirt but past it, all the way up to the shirt in her hands. Yep, that’s right, the sprog’s shirt went into the wash with both his dried stains and my fresh ones on it.

After an experience like that you don’t really have to say much to each other and we kind of shamefacedly went off to shower and didn’t mention it later, although I felt a really weird, indescribable embarrassment next time I saw the sprog. I imagine my wife did too. Of course we kept giggling at each other whenever we heard him going at it in his room. (Which, like I said, was every day, several times a day.) And a few of nights later when we were in bed, I asked jokingly if there had been any other unusually impressive cum stains in the laundry, and that led to a discussion of whether the sprog had inherited his horniness from us or compulsive masturbation was just natural at that age, and that led (don’t ask how) to my dear wife speculating about whether the sprog was as well-endowed as I, and that led to my railing her hard, doggy-style, until she came so hard that we had to change the sheets before we went to sleep.

The thing is, I realized after the laundry room incident that discussing, or even just acknowledging our son’s masturbation, was a pretty powerful sexual trigger for my wife. I didn’t want to diminish the power of that by calling attention to it. But I was also finding myself more and more turned on thinking about it myself. I kind of wanted a laundry-room rematch of some sort, but what I got a couple weeks ago was much more dramatic. What happened was...

Well, let me give some background. We bought the sprog an Oculus Quest VR headset last summer. He’d wanted a VR headset for a long time and they were almost impossible to get at the beginning of the pandemic, so when I was looking for something else on the Best Buy site one day and noticed that the Quest had come back into stock, I ordered it on impulse. He deserved it — he’d really had been a trooper the whole time, cooped up in the house with us. He was humbly grateful and played games for a while in a space we cleared in the living room, but the headset soon disappeared with him into his room and I more or less forgot about it. Should have guessed he was using it to watch porn!