Mummy Issues?

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It was a wintry and cold, mid-year school holiday in Australia and the rain teemed down outside with regular and relentless monotony. I was halfway through my final-final year of high school and had been warned by my overbearing parents that socialising and anything resembling fun was not even to be on my radar. The dreary pools of water outside my bedroom window and the piles of books on my desk tied me to the reality of another day with my nose at the grindstone of study for end of year exams that seemed, quite literally, a lifetime away.

I had simply done little to nothing in the way of good old hard work in my ‘final’ year of school the previous year and, after my parents begged my Headmaster, I had re-enrolled for what some of us called our ‘Leaving Year — with Honours’. In reality there was little honour in the knowledge I was repeating my final year of school just as most of my friends seemed to be beginning theirs with gap years abroad or entry into their dream courses at Universities across the country. I, in the meantime, had dusted off the old school uniform and signed up for another year of mind numbing lectures and child-like school rules. All at the ripe old age of 18 years.

During the July break of three school weeks I had become accustomed to waking after my parents had left the house for work and engaging in what had become my most serious hobby to date — masturbation. I had suffered for years as a teen in having an overwhelming sexual desire and drive that seemed to have no end, except on the odd occasion where I achieved my release during a nocturnal emission. The odd wet dream sated me but I had little to no control over them and they came (don’t pardon the pun) all too infrequently.

It wasn’t until a friend gave me a copy of Penthouse magazine that I finally figured it all out. Whilst reading the Forum section one evening I came across a story about a woman who seduced a co-worker by jacking off a broom handle with the tips of her thumb and fingers. When I touched my rock hard dick that night through the ‘wee slit’ of my pyjamas on the floor of my bedroom and simulated the fondling described in the story, my whole body began to convulse in pure ecstasy and I jumped as I began to pump an enormous load onto my chest, face, hand and pubic area. I’d awakened a beast!

I remember just sitting there as my bent legs twitched and moved about in my post orgasmic bliss. It was exhilarating to say the least and set me on a course of personal ‘abuse’ that was to last for the rest of my life. That night I sent myself to bed early, much to the amusement of my parents, and proceeded to come three more times in a row. I delighted in using a previous load to lubricate my dick and found immediately that, by using my whole hand wrapped around the shaft and simulating the area just underneath the head, I could achieve a powerful orgasm that resulted in splashes on my chest, face and even the headboard of my bed!

So it was on that cold, July morning, I lay in bed and eagerly fisted my cock for what would likely be the first of up to five powerful orgasms for the day. Pre-cum had oozed out from my tip and coated the underside of my pole causing slippery ‘wanking’ sounds to escape from under the bed covers. I enjoyed the natural lubrication of pre-cum and found it was in plentiful supply the more I teased myself. It honestly felt good to have something wrapped around my shaft as, being in school, the opportunities for romancing in my current world of school books and parent imposed rules were nil.

As the familiar feeling of tightness in my ball sack began to stir and the sensitivity of the underside of my dick increased I let out a feeble gasp as I came, semen pulsing in three, four, five… six electrifying bursts and pooling on my chest and in my navel. The post orgasmic glow engulfed me as I lay there, letting the bed covers fall down to trap my load against my skin as it dripped down my sides and onto the mattress beneath me.

When my breathing returned to normal I rose from the bed and scooped up the come from my body with some tissues my Mum had left for me beside the bed. It had been a complicit agreement that she and I had arrived at. I was pretty sure she was sick of receiving my underwear in the dirty washing that was crusty with my many loads — stains that didn’t come out in the wash unless they were scrubbed!

However I was damn sure that the tissues arrived in my room after I abused her, although doubtfully without her knowing, the day she found a skimpy pair of her panties crusted with my creamy deposit.


I had been eagerly searching the house one afternoon a short time ago for some ‘inspiration’ for a jerking session. I had stumbled across a pair of her worn panties in the dirty clothes hamper and, sensing a throb between my legs, I had released my cock into the afternoon air and began to beat off with her panties under my nose as I inhaled her womanly scent. The musky and tangy odour had intrigued me and, Escort bayan when I had absently licked the gusset and tasted dry vaginal juices, my cock began to tighten instantly in my hand. I held them up in front of my eyes and stared at the crusty spot where my mother’s cunt had been. Her lubrication must have caused a damp spot that had seemingly crept between the fat lips of her pussy and left a ridge on the gusset that modelled her opening. I continued to beat myself stupid as, somewhat strangely, visions of my mother’s ass and cunt swaying to and fro came to mind. I could see the swell of her ass cheeks and the valley between them and this was enough to send me over the edge.

Fearing a large clean up I panicked, held the delicate material in front of the eye of my cock and proceeded to spew a hefty load of cum into them. The meshy front instantly began to leak profusely and so I reactively threw them back into the hamper and, knees shaking, walked awkwardly towards the kitchen as I heard the front door open.

My Mum walked in, made some comments about how her life was never easy and proceeded to head straight for the laundry to do, ‘Yet another bloody load of washing’. My mind in overdrive at the prospect of being caught out having just used my mother’s underwear to get off, I stood still and listened for any clues. My Mum was obviously sorting clothes from the basket to the washing machine and sang a song under her breath as she did so. My heart was beating like a jack hammer.

Suddenly the singing stopped and an under the breath, ‘what the …?’ shattered the air. I could vaguely hear her sniff and then she uttered a sound like a knowing ‘Oh.’ I knew I was busted and after I heard the washing detergent added and the machine start, I braced myself for what was to be an embarrassing and life altering moment.

Mum entered the kitchen and, somewhat astoundingly, began to talk as if nothing had happened — although her nerves were, upon reflection, a little bit frazzled. She set about preparing that night’s meal and shooed me away when I began to enquire as to what it was. I took the opportunity to escape and did so, seemingly having gotten away with a vile and disgusting act!

It was only days later that Mum returned from the shops one afternoon and silently left a box of tissues on my bedside table. Enough said — or not!


After cleaning myself up from my first wank of the day I took a quick shower and set about doing some study. It hadn’t been long when one of my history books mentioned something that vaguely related to sex and so I dropped my pants and began to furiously tug at my cock wanting to release yet more sexual frustration and energy.

I was working myself up to another release, picturing my Mum’s ass and her breasts swaying as she walked, when a cry of help drifted through the window. It was followed by a seemingly frustrated groan and a slightly pained whimper.

I let go of my dick and pulled up my pants as an ‘Ouch!’ followed the previous sounds coming from the direction of our neighbour’s house. Sensing some sort of danger, I immediately sorted out the lump my cock had formed in the front of my pants and headed towards the door just as a stream of swearing permeated the crisp air near me.

The drizzle outside greeted me as I headed out toward the cries. Cold surrounded my body yet I could feel the heat of my groin as I walked into our front yard, my encased cock swaying gently within the confines of my loose fitting jeans.

At first I saw the groceries scattered on the ground, a can rolling toward a garden bed in the neighbour’s house, some oranges rolling on the path. Next I saw our neighbour, Anne Marie, lying on her side and grabbing towards her back, just off centre of her right buttock. She was in obvious pain and I quickly surmised she had slipped over on the wet ground and fallen on her backside. I moved over to her and held out my hand, offering an ‘Everything okay Annie?’ and she grimaced as she looked up from where she lay.

‘I fucking well slipped over on this fucking wet, slippery path. Fucking useless husband, I’ve told him for months this path needed cleaning.’ She said, through clenched teeth.

‘Here.’ I said as I took her hand and helped her sit upright.

She immediately shrieked with pain and put her weight on her left buttock, raising her right one from the cold, wet and hard ground beneath her. It began to rain a bit harder and I suggested she should try to get up and walk so we could get her dry and inside.

‘I don’t think it’s broken but I just landed on my fucking coccyx bone and it bloody kills!’ she groaned, trying to reach around and rub the sore spot.

I told her I would try to lift her and, without waiting to hear any protest, I grabbed her beneath her armpits and tried to lift her up on the spot. As she tried to help me in lifting her up, she moved her arms out wider to balance, my hands shifting forward and I could feel the soft, delicate Bayan escort skin of the beginning of her breasts.

When she wobbled to her feet, she must have felt a shot of pain go through her legs because she instantly fell back towards me and my hands closed around her torso to catch her. This caused my palms to encase the top of her breasts, just above the nipples I suspected, and my fingers met in the middle of her chest. We stood there for a moment, she not moving, nor my hands. Time seemed to stand still for the briefest of moments.

The beating rain eventually pulled me from this blissful moment and I quietly asked if she was okay to walk.

‘I might need some help from you if that’s okay?’ She asked, and I began to gently guide her to her front door step, out of the rain. I propped her up against the wall by her door and then gallantly raced out into the rain to gather her shopping from the clutches of the front garden. When I had it all in hand I returned to Annie, my hair dripping with water and my clothes now completely sodden.

When she smiled at me and thanked me I was acutely aware, as was she that her loose fitting shirt had been rendered see through and I now stared at her dark brown nipples as they poked through her rain soaked top. They formed little bra encased pyramids at the tips of her pert breasts and the rise and fall of her chest from breathing accentuated their allure — they almost seemed to be begging to be let loose.

Anne Marie had lived next to us for years. She was married to a pure dickhead who seemed to delight in doing little at home and he rarely if ever, showed her any public affection. Anne Marie, or Annie as she liked to be known, was a local school teacher who was also currently on holidays. She was a friendly and honest person who worked hard and seemed to do little outside of work. Our family had had little to do with Annie although my Mum spoke to her on occasion and they often shared an afternoon coffee on weekends where, according to my Mum, she whinged about her husband and the lack of love her gave her.

Annie was a tall woman with short brown hair and lanky features. She had long, skinny arms and legs and pale skin that seemed to be almost blemish free, save for a few freckles spread over her nose and the tops of her shoulders. Her breasts were small yet perky and topped with dark brown nipples that were so dark they often peeked out through a layer of bra and shirt. Her stomach had a small pot to it but this emphasised her femininity. Her hips were flared slightly and wider than her ass, which was apple shaped and, although a little big, seemed to suit her body perfectly. She had often been the source of my fantasies as had a number of the older women in the local area. She seemed to soften a little whenever I spoke to her and had confided in me once that she wished she had had a son ‘just like me’. There had even been a time where, when I was younger, she used to ‘play’ with me suggesting that I was her son and she was my mother. She had me calling her ‘Mummy’ one afternoon and I could tell she really liked it. Maybe that’s why I had pulled myself off into my own mother’s panties?

Annie dug into the front pocket of her pants and fished out her house key. I held the groceries as she opened the door and ushered me in with a pronounced limp, telling me to, ‘Please put the groceries on the kitchen table’. She gingerly moved along behind me and I could hear gasps of pain as she stumbled against the walls as she walked.

After setting down the items that were still wet from the ordeal outside, I turned to see her standing behind me, hobbling on one leg and in obvious discomfort.

‘Look, thanks for your help… I should be okay.’ she began to say, however she swayed slightly and caused a jolt of pain again from the injured coccyx to move through her body.

Thinking quickly, I moved to help her and suggested she sit on a comfortable chair in the nearby Television room. She offered little to no resistance to that idea and, guiding her gently again from behind with a hand on her shoulder and one on her waist, I moved her to sit in the middle of her 3 seater lounge chair. When she made contact with the soft chair sitting down she again grimaced in pain and quickly lay down on her left side, keeping her sore right buttock upright and her torso up on one resting elbow.

‘I… I think I’ve maybe broken something down there.’ She said and she pointed with her right index finger toward the upper part of her shapely backside. She moaned some more and again cursed her husband.

‘Fucking self-obsessed asshole. Can’t even fucking keep a pathway clean? What a waste of fucking oxygen.’ She ranted.

I sat down behind her and, for some reason I won’t ever be able to explain, I gently placed my hand on her upper right buttock and rubbed gently. Her damp jeans moulded to her body and, in silence, my hand drifted across the crest of her smooth hip and upper thigh. I had done this for Escort about 30 seconds before I realised I was doing it and, when I suddenly put it all together, I immediately withdrew my hand with a panicked, sharp intake of breath.

‘Please don’t stop, that’s nice’. Annie had then said — well, she had actually punctuated the still air between us with this comment.

My, by now, shaking hand returned delicately to her hip and I again rubbed gently in an effort to soothe her hurt. As my motions settled, I could hear the rasp of the fabric of her pants under my fingers as I rubbed softly back and forth. With her back to me and laying on her side, I noted Annie’s breathing began to settle and she closed her eyes. I thought I heard her issue a soft moan at one point but wrote that off as another jab of pain.

‘How does it feel?’ I asked, after an eternity of rubbing.

‘A bit better.’ She sighed, but when I motioned to take my hand away, hers appeared from nowhere and pressed it back down, urging me to continue. Her hand had pushed mine slightly off its original course and it now settled directly on her denim covered ass cheek but I continued to rub gently and this seemed to suit her too as her eyes again closed and she issued what I could clearly hear was an approving moan. Later in life I recognised this as the moan of approval a lover gives their partner.

At one point, with me now trying to test the boundaries slightly, my fingertips strayed to the waist of her jeans and I touched her bare skin above her ass, on the small of her back. Like an electric shock one gets when rubbing their feet on the carpet as a child and touching something metallic, my hand instantly recoiled from the warmth of her skin and yet again, Annie’s hand returned to cover mine and she pressed my fingers against the warmth of her skin.

My gentle caress became bolder now and my fingertips on her skin eventually became my fingers and then the palm of my hand. I was now openly rubbing her back, her skin and she was allowing me — even pushing me to do so. The smooth surface of her porcelain coloured skin was occasionally interrupted by goose bumps when my now roaming hands pushed to new areas.

When her little voice pierced the air again, my mind began to do cartwheels.

‘I think I’ve done something really bad back there. If I loosen my pants, do you think… Do you mind… Could you perhaps just have a quick look down there?’

The fact she had said ‘down there’ nearly sent me into a spin! I muttered a sound that wasn’t convincing but did sound like an affirmative and the next few seconds etched themselves into my auditory memory forever.

First, I heard the sound of her jeans button sifting gently through the eye hole. It announced its freedom with a slight ‘pop’ and I heard Annie gently breathe out directly after, no doubt revelling in the newfound space around her waist as she scrunched herself on the couch.

Next I heard each individual tooth of her zipper set free from the clasp of another as she ever so slowly slid it down, obviously so that I could ‘inspect’ her coccyx bone… right near her ass! To this day I get a rise in my pants hearing the gentle undulations of a zipper going down — anywhere, anytime.

She let out her first little, tiny giggle as she loosened her jeans around her waist and mover her hands to the sides. Her delightful ass seemed to push out toward me as she grabbed at the sides of her jeans and lightly pushed down, revealing at first the beginning of her ass crease and then the top of her panties. The label for her panties was a silky white one and it was sticking out from the rear waist band. I remember reading ‘DO NOT TUMBLE DRY’ and seeing a ‘no ironing’ symbol on there — the things you remember!

Without much thought (A feature of my life to that date and forever after) I reached forward and my hand delicately touched the skin above her panty line, in the small of her back. She protested that the pain was lower so I sucked in a breath and sent my hand lower, touching the inviting beginning of the crease of her ass in one instant and then recoiling the next when she screamed at the slightest of pressure. ‘Arghh…’ Then her wailing subsided quickly and she told me it hurt right where I had touched, but maybe lower too.

With unwittingly smooth composure I suggested I should just press gently a little lower, on the end of the coccyx bone as this may be where she landed and hit the hardest. Better to be safe than sorry I reasoned. Despite the prospect of more shooting pain she surprisingly agreed, taking hold of the sides of her jeans once again and pushing them lower on her hips until she had to lift her left buttock slightly from the lounge chair to move them as far as she could.

With my left arm resting on the back of the couch I surveyed the scene in front of me. There sat Annie, the cute next door neighbour who hated her husband and had just fallen over outside, possibly fractured her coccyx bone. She had pulled her pants down on the couch for her next door neighbours son and had just agreed that he should explore her ass further to see if there was more damage… You couldn’t have scripted this any better for a young lad like me!

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