August 16, 2014
Rose was supposed to be grounded. Charlotte was quite clear about it. The things that girl says and does to Alabaster honestly horrify Charlotte sometimes -- Rose can be so cruel towards him. And Alabaster is such a sensitive soul, one who really can't handle the bullying. He came to Charlotte in tears about it, and that cinched it. She had had enough. She laid down the law and revoked all of Rose's privileges for two weeks.
Unfortunately, Saul has exactly the opposite take on things. He's got it in his head that Alabaster is some sort of master manipulator and that Rose is the real victim here. It's easy to see why. Rose has Saul wrapped around her pinky finger, commands the kind of authority over him that Charlotte only wishes she could. He seems almost constitutionally incapable of saying the word no to her. All Rose ever has to do is turn on the waterworks, tell a distorted version of events, and call him "daddy" gratuitously, and all of a sudden she magically gets whatever she wants. Charlotte could almost respect the con if she wasn't at least a little bit jealous of it too. Saul isn't 1/1000th as yielding to her over anything.
So rather than being confined to the house this Saturday, Rose is at the shooting range with Saul. He claims that giving them time apart from one another will cool the tensions between Rose and Alabaster, but Charlotte is peeved all the same. Saul didn't discuss it with her beforehand. Just texted her when he was already on his way to the range with Rose. The nerve of that man. She could honestly throttle him.
Alabaster said that he was going to a friend's house today, which means that Charlotte is facing another lonely Saturday, stranded at home with nothing much to do. She hates taking up all the domestic duties when she could be doing much more stimulating things, but the rates for maid services are absurd nowadays. With the extra expenses of having another dependent to care for, something had to give. So, bored, and knowing that none of the slovenly pigs sharing this roof with her will do it themselves, Charlotte resigns herself to laundry duty.
She goes room to room, gathering clothes into hampers. It always makes her marvel. Rose is so meticulously organized in nearly every aspect of her life, but as soon as she's in her en-suite bathroom at the end of the day, she just tosses her underwear on the ground like a litterbug tossing away a candy wrapper. It's disgusting, and indecent, especially now that she has to share the bathroom with Alabaster. Not that Alabaster is any better -- Charlotte once discovered a sock dangling from the blade of his bedroom's ceiling fan. That level of dedication to being a slob almost loops back around to admirable. Almost.
This afternoon, when Charlotte leaves Rose's bedroom with a hamper-full of laundry on her hip and turns now towards Alabaster's room, she unexpectedly hears noise from within. Alabaster hasn't left yet after all. She raises a hand to tap on his door, to warn him that she's coming in. But she stops herself and considers what sort of noise it is she hears in there. It's a wet, rhythmic slapping, like someone tenderizing meat. She puts her fingers to her lips in sudden realization. Oh my. That's precisely what it is she hears.
Blushing deeply, she turns for the stairs. Alabaster is a red-blooded young man, so this sort of thing is perfectly normal -- and stumbling across it is an occupational hazard of raising a teenage boy. He deserves a little bit of privacy. At least, Charlotte reasons, he isn't sleeping around with loose girls. She'll give him the space he needs for his fun.
At the top of the staircase, Charlotte sets the laundry down, wheels back around, and walks to Alabster's door again.
What is wrong with you, Charlotte? She doesn't know. It's true that she has stolen some very unmotherly glances in Alabaster's direction before, and has harbored some very unchaste thoughts. She has appreciated the view through the kitchen window when Alabaster swims in the pool, the way his wet swim trunks adhere to the obviously sizable package he's blessed with. She has enjoyed seeing him lick an ice cream cone and imagined what else that tongue might be capable of. But idle passing fantasies are one thing. To stand outside his door and listen to him play with himself is entirely another. That crosses a line, surely, yes? She's supposed to be a mother to him. Here she is eavesdropping on how he beats off -- acting like a horny teenager herself.
It's so wrong. She can't tear herself away. She wants to. But the increasing volume of Alabaster's self-abuse transfixes her. Charlotte has seen the rubber masturbation device he keeps stowed under his bed and thinks he must be using it right now. The slick wet sloshing and squishing isn't at all like the noise merely jerking off would create. The idea sends a nasty shiver down Charlotte's spine and makes her tingle between her legs. Alabaster is fucking a synthetic pussy... right now... he's not just masturbating, he's trying to mate...
Charlotte thinks about that. The youthful desperation Alabaster must be going through. The indiscriminate need to fuck something and cum inside it, whatever or whoever it is. That need has to be especially strong for a boy like him, with a penis like his, so big, and meaty, and throbbing with manliness beyond his years. It must cause him such terrible pain and discomfort when it gets erect. The poor thing. She hates to think of Alabaster in pain, of course... she'd dearly like to help him through it in any way she can... she'd be very good at it.
Charlotte feels her breath hitch and is keenly aware of how wet she's getting. What a shameless whore you are, she thinks to herself, to lust after your adopted son. But she can't help it. The wild sound of Alabaster relieving that ache in his big dick, is just too alluring: the squeak of the chair he's sitting in, the thudding of his ass bouncing up and down as he humps his plastic pussy. Come out of your room, Alabaster, she thinks deliriously... come out of there and I'll give you a nice, warm, real pussy to use... to relieve that achey dick inside of. You won't be truly relieved until you cum inside a real woman, will you? Your big dick will just keep hurting and throbbing and pulsing and looking for a cunt to fuck. Mommy understands... of course she does...
Alabaster starts to grunt and groan a little. He's really getting into it! What a virile young man. She wonders whether she'd be able to withstand the full brunt of his animal lust. If he pinned her down and fucked her like that... would it hurt? She definitely wouldn't be able to stop him, not when he's like this. But that's okay, she thinks. She doesn't mind if it hurts her a little, as long as it takes some of the stress off his shoulders. He deserves it for everything he's been through. Though there are also other ways to take proper care of a boy like him. She rubs her massive breasts through her sweater, her own genetic blessing... these would give Alabaster some much-needed pleasure, too. And as a bonus -- she'd get to see that big fucking cock thrusting up and down right in front of her face. She licks her lips. That would be such a wonderful sight.
Charlotte runs a hand down between her legs, and lewdly rubs the crotch of her jeans. She's so hot right now. Alabaster isn't the only one who needs a little relief; she wants to enjoy herself, too. As Alabaster's primal lust carries him to higher heights, Charlotte presses her eardrum right up against the door, listens in. She unbuttons her pants and finds her clit through her panties.
"Ungh... ungh..." she hears Alabaster grunt. His exhalations are muffled, he's trying to suppress them. But she can tell he's close to orgasm. Her hand against her cunt quickens. And then all of a sudden it arrives; she can hear the masculine forcefulness of his climax even though he keeps it barely more audible than a hissed whisper. "Ungh... oh, fuu-uuck... oooh..."
That's it, baby, she thinks. Cum for me. Get it all out. I hope it feels really good for you... it feels really good for me, too...
She loses herself in her own lustful thoughts. She stands there with her jeans half undone and continues to masturbate in front of Alabaster's door. But a few moments later, she hears movement from within, and startled, she makes herself decent again. She picks the laundry hamper up and hurries downstairs, still in a state of terrible need, her head filled with obscene and incestuous images.
From the downstairs hallway, dropping clothes into the washing machine, Charlotte spies Alabaster heading for the front door. "Back later," he says to her, when he notices her staring at him. Even though he just came, he looks so energized, vital -- male. A boy like him is going to be horny again in about five minutes, she just knows it. It's all she can do not to grab him and pin him down and demand that he blow his next load directly inside her.
She waits a little over a minute after he leaves before she runs upstairs and straight into his room.
It stinks like teenage boy, that unfortunate combination of hormonal sweat and stale cum. She's in heaven. Or more like a pig at a trough. Atop Alabaster's desk, glistening, is his rubber cum-sleeve... and on the floor in front of his computer chair, discarded without a thought, are his soiled boxers. He must have used them to wipe his cum on. The blue fabric is stained a pearly white and stuck together in places. She falls to her knees and grabs the sticky underwear, and she no longer cares about anything like dignity. She mashes the boxers right against her face and inhales deeply, and adores the way his musky dick-reek overloads her brain. She needs to taste it, too.
Frustrated and needing to get off now more than ever, she tugs her pants and panties down, and tosses them aside. She sits on her plump butt spread-eagle on the floor of the bedroom, huffing and licking Alabaster's cum straight off his underwear while she diddles her oozing cunt. His load is still warm. It's salty and bitter the way cum should taste, and so incredibly thick. It sticks to the back of her throat and fries anything left of her rationality. She begins to grunt, voice muffled by the material: "that's right baby, inside... cum inside me, please... you need my pussy, don't you? You need my pussy... you need my pussy so fucking bad."
Faster and faster her fingers work -- harder and harder she cums. Awash in her own perversion, she rants. "Feel good with mommy... feel good with my body... oh I'm so sorry I'm such a slut, baby... get your dick wet in Mommy's slut pussy... cum inside it... feel good..."
She hears thudding, approaching footsteps, but she doesn't care. She's close to getting off, and Alabaster's cum is too delicious to stop. She keeps playing with her horny cunt as the steps draw closer. It's only by Charlotte's blind luck that on his way up the stairs, Alabaster coughs, and Charlotte recognizes the voice. It pulls her back from the brink but only long enough to panic. There's no time to get decent. Alabaster is about to walk in on her masturbating, right there in the open on his bedroom floor. He's about to see his adoptive mother using his discarded cum rag to get off with.
She does the only thing she can do: she rolls onto her back and slides under his bed. From her position, she sees the door creaking open and Alabaster's tennis shoes coming in. She's naked from the waist down and her bottoms are still lying out in plain view. Fear battles with lust in her brain. He's going to see her clothes there and get suspicious. He'll know what she's doing.
In her hands, she still clasps his messy underwear -- despite the fear, she needs to get off, and now she presses the cum-stained thing directly against her pulsating cunt lips. She rubs the rough, slimy, sticky cotton against her clit like a madwoman. The texture of it is so nasty and dirty and wonderful. She pulls the collar of her sweater up and chews it like a horse's bit to keep from wailing in ecstasy.
Alabaster walks around his room, looking for something. He apparently finds it and leaves again. He didn't notice Charlotte's clothes on the floor, or at least gave no indication he did. Charlotte shudders, full of adrenaline, and ready for the best climax of her life. Alabaster's cum is warm and wet against her pussy. She paws her tits, tweaking the nipples, as she rubs Alabaster's hot fertile sperm into her hot fertile cunt-hole. She actually screams when the orgasm hits; can't help it. The debauchery and disgusting awfulness of what she's doing only accentuates how fucking good it feels. God does she want Alabaster to blow his fucking nuts inside her. She needs it so bad.
Breathless, spent, she sprawls out in the narrow space under his bed and just basks in the afterglow. For many long minutes, she idly sucks his cum-smeared underwear like a lollipop. It's the best thing she's ever tasted. She sucks on it, her tongue swirling around and savoring the smelly load, until all of it is gone and the underwear is clean. She smiles to herself. Just doing her baby boy's laundry for him. That's all.