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Chapter 3 - All the Help You Could Want
On Friday, the fifth day of this little project, it's hot as hades, and as I come home I see Mom standing in the front yard about 15 feet back from the sidewalk. She has her head back and is drinking straight from the garden hose attached to the front of their old bungalow. Water is spilling all over her chest and body. Her clothes are now plastered over her tits and ass, and are completely see-through … and now I notice she even has nipple rings on!!! What the …!?! She looks like a porn queen! Why can't she see this? … or maybe she does. In less than a week, the little lane in front of our house has changed from a little backwater path to become the main route by which all the males on campus get to their classes. The word got around.
Guys are everywhere calling out in singsong: "Hello Misses Duras" … "Isn't it a nice day Misses Duras?" … "You sure look great today Misses Duras" … "Do you need any help today Misses Duras?"
Such courteous, pleasant young men, so nice and polite … and such fucking horny disingenuous ass-holes!!! That's my mom they're lusting after. They don't want to talk about the weather. They don't want to help in the garden. They want to get very deep into her little hotpants! And she is just glowing, smiling and waving, arching her back. Damn these boys. Good thing that little picket fence is separating her from all those hardons.
"Mom, get inside! You can NOT wear this outfit, soaked with water, out here where everyone can see you! You just cannot do it!!!" scolding her like a child.
"But honey, I'm really not done … I have to finish," she replies with a touch of anxiety.
She looks almost delirious from the heat. Has she lost her mind? I drag her inside. I will not hear another word. As I slam the door I hear what sounds like a collective groan from the gawkers.
"Mom, what the hell is going on. Why are you on display out in the yard?"
"I told you dear, I'm being punished for one week for making your father mad."
"I don't care what you did, this is ridiculous. I suppose he made you wear those … uh … those … uh …mom!!! … what the hell are you doing with nipple rings on!?! How long have you had those? What's going on here? I want some answers!" feeling very much like I am the mom here.
"Dear, your father always punishes me when I'm bad. He always has. And I always love him," she explains like a perfect, understanding (and totally subservient!) wife would.
"What? You love him for always punishing you? … or you always love him? What did you do to deserve this?" Of course I knew the answer. I don't really know why I asked. Did I expect her to tell me about the panties, and her almost giving up her pussy at a faculty party, and all that? And what about those rings? I vowed to find some answers before I returned to school.
I've got to get her cooled off. I help her out of her wet clothes, dry her off (trying not to, you know, touch her too much), and lay her down on the couch covering her with a light cotton throw. After turning on the fan and placing a cold compress over her eyes, I order her to rest. I sit by her side holding her hand encouraging her to drift off.
"But I have to be outside dear," she says with some worry.
"No you don't mom, rest now. I'll deal with dad if he comes home early."
When she finally does doze off, I look at her lying so peacefully, and really start to take in how beautiful she is: nice thick wavy black hair, such a sweet hint of a smile, her full sexy tits, her curves. My mind seems to be going on a little vacation as the awareness of her being my mother starts slipping away. Soon, all I can think about is the way she looked out there, her big nipples poking through, her smooth pussy so clearly visible through the spandex. Nipples, nice flat tummy, pussy … nipples, tummy, pussy … I seem to be silently chanting this to myself. How does she do it? How does she keep in such nice shape?
I start to feel a throbbing in my pussy, and its urgency is rising fast. I test and she's asleep. I need to deal with this. How, where, and with what? I remember stumbling onto mom's toys one day when snooping around their bedroom. She has some nice ones right in her bedside table for anyone to find. Guess she's not too inhibited about it. I start thinking about the big one, a nice fake dick, veins bulging, big head, everything a girl needs. And I start getting wetter and wetter. I know dad's not due home for another whole hour.
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