On Saturday morning, one week after mom got banged by our neighbor, Sam, I came down to the breakfast table to find mom pouring vodka into her orange juice. The way she smiled and greeted me with unfocused eyes and slurred words told me that she had already downed two or three earlier. I pretended not to notice as I poured my cereal.
The past week had been uneventful, with me busy with my school work and mom busy at her job. But this was the weekend, the time to let loose and have fun; so I didn't protest mom's drinking, nor did I object to the way she was dressed. She had on one of my late dad's tee shirts over a pair of pink panties. The tee shirt had trouble covering her shapely ass, and even more trouble containing her ample breasts. Her mounds bounced and swayed freely whenever she moved, while her nipples nearly poked right through the cotton fabric. I envied my mom's 32-year-old body. I hope I look that good when I grow up.
By the time I'd finished my cornflakes, mom had finished her drink and was pouring another. By now
she had stopped responding to my small talk. She just sat slumped in the chair, her elbows on the tabletop, her hands caressing the glass she was drinking from. Her shiny black hair cascaded down over her shoulders. She was shitfaced yet still beautiful.
It was obvious that dad's death two years ago had been hard on her. She was still struggling to recover. But a 13-year-old girl could lose patience with a mom like that. So when I had swallowed my last spoonful of flakes and looked down upon an empty bowl, I asked, "Mom, are there any more cornflakes?"
Now, I knew that there were. In fact, the nearly full box was sitting over on the counter, not five steps away. I could have easily gotten them myself. But I wanted my mom's attention. I wanted her motherly love. I wanted her to recognize the fact that she and her daughter were sitting together at the breakfast table. The two of them. Mother and daughter. On a Saturday morning. With the whole weekend ahead of them to do mother/daughter things. In other words, I wanted normalcy.
But mom just sat there sipping her vodka and juice, as if she didn't even hear me. "Mom," I said again, a little louder this time, "are there any more cornflakes?" Once again, no response. So I looked right into her eyes and in a firm, demanding voice said, "Mom, get me the fuckin' cornflakes!"
My mom then lifted her head and stared back at me. I thought she was going to slap the shit out of me. But, instead, she blinked drunkenly, got to her feet and wobbled over to the counter to fetch the cereal. She showed me her entire ass when she bent over the countertop. (Damn, she had the prettiest pink panties. I made a mental note to buy myself a pair just like them at the earliest convenience.) And when she returned with the cereal and bent over to set the box before me, her tits nearly tumbled out of the front of her tee shirt. She then collapsed again in her chair and wrapped both hands around her glass. Once more, dead to the world.
Okay, so it wasn't pretty. But at least I got some recognition. Some acknowledgement. My mom knew I was at the table. Knew I was alive. That was something. I reached over and stroked her wonderful hair, touched a finger to her mature, womanly face. But she didn't even feel it.
Oh, well, I sighed, leaning back in my chair, can't have everything.
Then a thought came to me, like a lightbulb above my head. I leaned forward again, and in a firm voice said, "Mom, clear the table and wash the dishes."
To my surprise she struggled to her feet and began gathering up the dirty dishes and carrying them to the sink. In no time she was standing there, elbows deep in suds, drunk as shit and oblivious to everything around her, yet still able to get the dishes done. Her butt, barely covered by her tee shirt, swayed gently back and forth as she worked.
Instinct! I told myself. She was responding instinctively to tasks she had done a thousand times before and knew how to do. Apparently, she didn't have to be sober or even fully conscious. She seemed to be working on a subconscious level. (Or was it sub-sober?) In any event she was doing a good job on those dishes, and I was so amazed that I just sat there in my pajamas and watched.
Still, a drunk mom is a drunk mom, so she kept sipping on vodka the whole time; and though the dishes eventually got cleaned, the floor in front of the sink got wet, as did her tee shirt. By the time she finished and returned to her chair, I could clearly see her white breasts and brown nipples through the wet cotton.
"That won't do," I said. "Mom, you're going to have to take off that wet shirt. Why don't you go upstairs and--"
Now, I was about to suggest that she go up to her room and change; but before I could finish my sentence, she responded to the first thing that I said and immediately lifted her tee shirt over her head, right there at the kitchen table. Her tits, freed at last, jutted out magnificently and I found myself staring, wondering if I would have tits that beautiful when I grow up.
A loud knock on the door startled me back to the present. We have one of those houses that has a
kitchen door that leads directly into the backyard. Usually, only friends and neighbors will go all the way around to the back door. So when I looked out the window and saw a total stranger standing there knocking, I was surprised. He looked like a homeless man--big and brawny and dirty and disheveled. (Picture a 40-year-old Pigpen on steroids.) I shivered in my pajamas and quickly ducked out of his sight.
"Mom." I said, backing into the narrow space between the refrigerator and the cupboard, "answer the door." I didn't want the guy to see me in my pajama briefs and skimpy top.
Now, under normal conditions, what I did was the right thing to do. I'm only 13, and I shouldn't be opening the door for weird-looking strangers. It was my mom's job to go to the door, determine whether or not the stranger was dangerous, and either find out what he wanted or shoo him away.
But this morning was anything but normal.
My drunk mom immediately stood up and moved towards the door. Her tee shirt lay on the table beside her now-empty glass. Her naked breasts jutted out before her, and her asscheeks rocked and rolled inside her panties. Those pink panties were the only thing she was wearing.
"M-M-Mom! Wh-Wh-What! N-N-No!"
I couldn't think fast enough. Didn't know what to say to stop her. She was drunk as a bitch and was only responding to my command to answer the door. And that's just what she did. She unlocked it and threw it open wide then stood drunkenly in the doorway as the stranger looked her up and down in disbelief.
I should have went to her aid. Should have slammed the door shut. Locked it. Rescued her. But I couldn't. Once again tingly shivers began shooting through my loins at the sight of a hulking man lusting, wide-eyed, at my mom. I crouched down and hid behind the refrigerator, watching and waiting.
"Damn, lady!" I heard him say. "I just came by to see if you would hire me to do some yard work. I've been asking everyone in the neighborhood. But you . . . you . . . " Finally, he just threw up his hands and feasted his eyes once again upon my mom's big naked tits, before saying, "Fuck me!"
I'm sure he meant those two words in the current usage of that phrase. You know, when someone is shocked or disappointed or angry at something that just happened, and instead of saying, "I'm shocked at that" or "I'm angry at that", they say, "Fuck me." I'm pretty sure that's what he meant.
But my stupid drunk mom, my dumbass bitch of a mom, took him at his word, responded to his command, obeyed his request. She turned her back on him, walked over to the table, teetering and tottering the whole way, then bent over and grabbed the tabletop with both hands before spreading her luscious thighs. My heart pounded in my chest when I saw her titties flatten beneath her against the table top.
The stranger cursed happily as he entered my house and shut the door behind him. He looked all around to make sure he was alone. I shivered in my sexy little pajamas, glad that he couldn't see me.
Still cursing his amazing luck, he stepped up behind my mom and unceremoniously yanked her panties halfway down her thighs. I could see from the look on her face that she didn't even know he was there. He ran his rough meaty hands all over my mom's beautiful ass, again and again delving into her hairy ass crack. Then he slapped that ass, slapped it again, and kept slapping it. He made her body rock back and forth on the tabletop.
Just when I was convinced that her ass must be red as a beet by now, he ceased the spanking and moved his hand down between her thighs. He was rough and thorough as he explored her thick black bush and soft white thighs. I heard him grunting and groaning and cursing wildly as he took advantage of my drunk mom. And she never even flinched. Her darkened eyes just stared straight ahead, while she obeyed the homeless man's command: Fuck me!
I watched him funbling with his trouser's zipper next, one hand still massaging her pussy. Then, with a yank and a tug, his pants were down to his ankles, and he was leaning into her. I became suddenly aware of a terrific stink, one that filled the kitchen and made me gag. Wow, how could anyone smell that bad.
The stranger didn't seem to mind his own stink. Perhaps he wasn't even aware of it, just as my mom wasn't aware of what was happening to her. In any case, he kneed her thighs further apart, grabbed her asscheeks with both hands, and thrust his cock up into her gaping fuck hole. Then he started fucking my mom like a lunatic, his hard brutal thrusts lifting my mom's feet up off the floor again and again, so that the soles of her bare feet slapped the tiles almost as loudly and his groin slapped against her asscheeks. I expected her to scream or shout or cry out deliriously, but she just stood there, bent over and staring straight ahead, as though comatose.
Curses from the wildman filled my kitchen, along with the sounds of nasty flesh-slapping noises. He fucked her good and hard, and she was the perfect fuck. She didn't protest. She didn't complain. She was totally submissive. That smelly filthy bastard never had it so good.
He fucked her until he couldn't take her heat any longer. Her heat made him burn. Made him cry out. Made his nuts swell up. Her heat finally made him blow his load of spunk deep inside my mom's pussy.
He spasmed again and again, each time filling her pussy with more jizz. I could hear the filthy dirty wet sounds of his huge prick fucking through all the cum in her cunt. It was disgusting. I sank down on the floor and trembled uncontrollably, waiting for it to end.
When it finally did end, the stranger came over to my hiding place and seized my arm. I was so surprised that I pissed in my pants. He pulled me over to my mom and forced me to my knees. "You think I didn't know you were there." he said. "What is this shit, a mother and daughter game? You two making fun of Roy? Just because he's down on his luck? Well, we'll see about that!" Roy then shoved his sopping limp cock into my young mouth and forced me to suck him dry.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear his eyes out. But all I did was suck. With his meaty hand grasping my blonde hair and holding my head steady, I sucked his big dick. His smell made me gag, but it was the first blowjob of my life. I sucked all of my mom's juices off his prick and then I sucked out his jizz. I swallowed all of it. It tasted salty and good. I was just getting into the rhythm of it when he cruelly yanked his dick out of my mouth. He then pissed all over my mom's ass and then my face before pulling up his pants.
"Time for me to get the fuck out of here," he said.
"You two are just too damn crazy for me. I smell trouble. And I don't need any more trouble in my life. I've got enough already."
Just like that, he was gone. I got to my feet and helped my drunk mom to hers. We were both covered in sweat and cum, and we both stank with the homeless man's stink. We both wobbled to the shower in each other's arms.
As I bathed my mom, I was keenly aware of my new discovery. With enough booze in her, she would do any fucking thing I or anyone else told her to.
I pondered the possibilities.
END OF CHAPTER 2