Doting mother tends to her high-school son

My mom accidentally kissed my dick. She was in her mothering groove, I think, and it just happened. There was no lewd intent; of that, I’m sure.

An hour earlier, I was taking our Chesapeake, Barney, for a run through the woods behind our house. It was an unusually dark, early December night, and I lost track of where I was.

I had lost sight of Barney, too. Had he turned or gone ahead?

Gone ahead, I decided, squinting to see through the brush and trees ahead of me.

Abruptly, three taut wires checked my forward momentum from the waist down. My upper body flopped over the neighbor’s barbed-wire fence, and my lower half followed. During the tumble, I knew something was wrong.

Landing in a pile, I seized my cock through my jeans with both hands, wincing and cursing.

Barney ran up to the fence. Barking softly, he darted back and forth on the other side. I gutted the pain for long enough to address my dog’s alarm. “Easy, boy,” I groaned. He sat and whimpered while he waited for me to climb back to our side.

The faint starlight revealed a small, darkened patch forming against the crotch of my jeans. Blood. I cursed again before I found a good spot to cross back to our property between the middle and top wires, being extremely careful to avoid the barbs. Barney came and started licking my face during the transit.

Safely across, I led us toward home. After only a few steps, I winced again. I swore darkly. The pain on my cock had a twisting bite to it, and I knew from experience that it meant there was a risk of infection. So, Barney trotted, and I limped.

That was the fall of my eighteenth year, and all my life I was a kid who loved the outdoors. That meant injuries–tons of them. My three younger sisters–didn’t have any brothers–were homebodies; they got sick. I didn’t, not much; it was scrapes, nicks, cuts, bruises, and breaks for me.

Mom was almost always my nurse–had to be because we lived twenty-two miles from the nearest doctor’s office and seventy-nine from the nearest emergency room.

I didn’t plan on seeking Mom’s help for this injury. I’d watched her mend me hundreds of times, so I basically knew what to do. First, I needed to avoid her; I needed to go in the front door and stay away from where I knew she would be–the kitchen.

Arriving on the front porch, I snapped and pointed at the long cushion on the bench beside our bay window. Barney jumped up there. Fighting off the pain, I told him he was a good boy and scratched him behind the ears. He smiled up at me, and I dug into my pocket and pulled out a half strip of bacon from a plastic bag for him.

When I turned toward the front door, Mom was already there. She held the door open for me. Once I’d entered, forcing myself to act casually and hide the blood stain on the crotch of my jeans, she asked what had happened. My youngest sister, Isabelle, was there, standing beside Mom, pinching a wad of Mom’s jeans in her little fingers.

“Nothing. I’m okay,” I said.

Closing the door behind me, Mom leaned down to Izzy, kissed her forehead, and said, “Run along, my sweetheart. I need to have a private talk with your brother.”

Izzy let go of Mom’s jeans and left us.

Mom turned to me and raised a single eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” I assured her. “I’m okay.”

She came up to me, cradled my face in her hands, and kissed my cheek. “You forget,” she said as she drew back, “how many times I’ve seen my baby boy hurt. I know the look. Come to the kitchen and let’s–.”

“Mom?” I interrupted.

She grew still.

“No kidding,” I said, “this is probably one I should handle myself.”

She glanced at the hand over my crotch. “Tell me what happened.”

I sighed and did.

She very carefully hugged me when I finished my tale of woe, and then she kissed my cheek again. “I’m so very sorry, baby. That’s just awful luck.”

“So,” I said, “you see what I mean about–about wanting to take care of this myself?”

“I do, and I’m sorry, but I still need to–Hannah! Are you eavesdropping on my conversation with your brother?” I followed Mom’s icy glare and found my middle sister at the top of the stairs, spinning and darting back to her room.

When Hannah’s door shut, Mom turned to me.

I said, “Mom–.”

“It’s decided, baby. Your eyes don’t have the experience of mine–mending a thousand injuries. To spot infection in time, I need to see it.”

“But–,” I started.

Mom’s brown eyes grew wider, her swooping eyebrows rose, and she tilted her head just slightly to the side. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.

“Okay,” I muttered, growing embarrassed at the mere prospect of what was to come.

“I’ll fetch my things,” she said, rubbing my shoulder and pouting sympathetically.


There are people in the world who are naturally gentle–not a violent impulse in their bodies. Mom is that way. Her every touch is charged with tenderness. Her hands and fingers always moved slowly, and her caresses were so supple that it was like her touch was designed to soothe. When she kissed my cheek–and occasionally my lips–the softness there was like a murmured lullaby.

If it isn’t already clear, my mother expresses her affection physically. She hugs. She kisses. She rubs. Sometimes she just needs to hold hands. More than once I’ve heard her lament the passing of those days when I didn’t mind nuzzles and snuggles. I can remember as a little boy being playfully chased around the house by her, and when caught, laughing hysterically as she planted kisses upon me by the hundreds. I still see her do it to my two youngest sisters.

Even at 39, Mom is still pretty agile. She and Dad stay fit. They turned our basement storage room into a small gym and worked out together all the time. Those two go on long walks a few times each week, as well, leaving me in charge of my sisters. I’m proud that Mom takes care of herself, and I know my friends say things about her behind my back.

There are a few grey wisps in her long, brown hair. Her eyes are big and dark, capped with distinct and expressive eyebrows. She can convey her emotions easily with those swooping things. Shorter than me by about six inches, she stands at five-four on long legs and a shorter torso capped by fat, jutting Mom-breasts that were challenging for even her own son to ignore, but suited her nurturing temperament to perfection.


Before Mom inspected the injury to my dick, I wanted to survey the damage first. I carefully ascended the stairs and went to the bathroom I shared with my sisters. Closing and locking the door, I gingerly dropped my jeans and underwear to my thighs.

I swore again.

There was a puncture wound on the tip, and it was wide enough on the surface of the skin that I suspected the barb sank home completely. The wound continued to leak blood, and it stung like nasty, lingering insect venom. The knob, completely coated in blood, looked like a clown’s rubber nose.

I started when Mom knocked and asked to come in.

Sighing and swearing to myself, I pulled up my trousers and unlocked the door. Mom came in with her first aid basket, brimming with bottles, bandages, tools, tape–you name it. She closed and locked the door behind her. Setting the basket on the vanity, she asked me to show her.

“I will show you–I promise–but will you just let me clean it first?” I didn’t want her to freak out.

She considered the proposal for a second before shaking her head and saying, “Just show me quickly. Drop them and pull them up. One second. Let me see it.”

Swallowing and turning to her, I hooked my thumbs under my pants, sighed, closed my eyes, and carefully pulled them down. Counting to one and trying to ignore her gasp, I pulled them back up.

“Oh, my goodness, baby!” She had covered her mouth with a hand. Blinking at me in astonishment, she dropped to her knees in front of me and lowered my pants over everything.

I didn’t even try to stop her. What was the point?

“Oh! You poor thing!” she said, surveying the wound. Then, she looked up at me. “Does it hurt?”


“Let’s get this cleaned in the sink.”

“I’ve got it,” I said, turning toward the faucet and bowl.

“Fine,” she said, “but lean well over it, so we don’t make the floor all wet.”

I did, putting my hand on the mirror to balance myself. My cock and balls dangled over the front of the bowl.

Mom turned on the water and began to rifle through her supplies. Once the water was warm enough, she asked me if I wanted her to rinse me.

This was a tough moment. It’s not that I wanted her to do it. I didn’t. The problem was that I knew, no matter how comfortably warm that water was, when it hit my dick, it was going to hurt like a bastard.

I shook my head, took two deep breaths, and splashed the water over my cock. Snatching a sharp breath, I growled through the anguish. Mom caressed my back. The next scoop of water wasn’t as bad, and after seven or eight more, I blew out a long breath and turned to Mom.

She looked at me like I was a dying puppy, and she said, “Ready for the disinfectant soap?”

I laughed miserably.

She took my hand and pumped a dollop into it, asking if I was sure I didn’t want her to do it.

I shook my head.

She told me it would definitely sting.

I nodded, swallowed, and began applying the soap to the tip of my cock. Pinching my eyes shut, I gasped, tilted my head back, and let out a long, angry growl.

“Get it sudsy,” she advised. “Don’t rinse yet.”

Through clenched teeth, I grumbled, “I know.”

“My poor baby,” she moaned, leaning her head on my shoulder and rubbing my back.

I checked my work. The head of my cock was a miniature Santa Claus beard of suds, but the pain of the soapy disinfectant began to subside. I scooped handfuls of water and doused my cock, sighing with relief.

“Good,” Mom murmured.

With every scoop of water, a small bit of blood washed away, only to be replaced by a fresh, rising droplet. Beside me, Mom grabbed a gauze pad and said, “Now let me get a closer look.”

She leaned across me.

“Mom–,” I began, flinching. This was too close of a look.

“I need to see it,” she replied, cutting me off and steadying me with her hands on my hips. Sighing, I rolled my eyes and caught our reflection in the mirror.

I almost flinched again. The image in the mirror was the back of Mom’s head in front of my crotch with my pants down at my thighs and her hands on my hips. It looked in the mirror like she was giving me a–.

“Okay,” I hastily said, shutting my eyes.

“Wait.” She dabbed the tip with the gauze.

“Mom, that’s enough,” I said, urging her back.

“Just wait!”


She drew back, clearly annoyed. “This is your penis, baby! You get one of them in life. One. You do not want to lose it to infection. Now, will you swallow your pride and let me help you care for it?”

I stared at her for a beat, and then, resigned, I muttered, “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

I didn’t interfere with her again. When her inspection ended, she spun me toward her, knelt in front of me, and went to work. First, she dabbed it dry with the gauze, occasionally wiping away the leaking blood. Then, she applied an antibiotic ointment to the puncture wound. After that, she spent a minute or two creating a little square bandage made of gauze and medical tape.

She worked without talking, and she lost herself in the job. I didn’t say a word when her fingers raised the limp shaft and inspected it. She did it no differently than if it were a four-year-old’s arm and not an eighteen-year-old’s cock. Mom ran a finger around the tip in circles to make sure the two strips of white tape held.

Finishing, she looked up at me and said, “I’m going to leave some tape with you in case this bandage comes off for–for any reason.”

Her eyes told me what she meant–if a hard-on stretched the tape to the point where it no longer held. “Okay,” I said, thinking, my gosh, please! Do not–do not–get hard tonight.

“What do you think?” she asked.

I surveyed her work. “Looks okay.”

“Feeling any better?”


She smiled. “No more ouchie?”

I smirked, recalling her little routine.

Then, she kissed the limp, bare shaft–just behind the bandage–saying, “All better.”

I did not know what to do. I froze.

Mom shifted on her knees to stand, but she hesitated. It was as if she just then realized what she’d done. Hundreds of times, Mom had kissed me on or near my injuries after tending to them. It was her thing, but I’d never had a wound to my dick before.

In a near panic, I prayed she would not say anything or mention the cock kiss ever, ever, ever. I silently begged that she would just go.

She did. She rose, never looking at me. She packed her things and left without a word. A small roll of medical tape remained beside the sink.

Bizarre as it may seem, seeing Mom leave without a final word or sympathetic caress–without even a compassionate glance back at me–was almost as strange as her unintentionally kissing my dick.

I began to wonder if it would have been better if she’d simply apologized and found a way to laugh off that absent-minded kiss.


I took two painkillers before bed that night, and as I lay there in the darkness, staring at my ceiling fan and waiting for the medicine to kick in, I wondered how Mom felt.

Surely, it was mortifying when she realized she’d put her lips on her son’s dick, right? Accidental, of course, but humiliating all the same.

Mom was a lot of things; one of them was honest. She’d tell us when she took a piece of our Halloween candy without permission. When she was in a foul mood, she explained why. Once on vacation, I remember her telling me she wasn’t going swimming with the rest of us because she was having a heavy period.

So, I wondered if she would tell Dad. Oh, please, no.

Not that Dad would be upset–he wouldn’t. More likely, he would find it uproariously funny. Dad loved to laugh, especially at his own or other people’s embarrassments and foibles. The minute he knew I was going to be okay and no longer in terrible pain, he was going to rib me about getting my dick caught up in barbed wire.

Yeah, I thought, he would. I grinned a little bit despite the lingering soreness.

The smile vanished when I thought about Mom telling Dad about the kiss. Yes, he would tease her about kissing the booboo on her adult son’s cock. Dad would get Mom laughing about it, too.

Something about that scenario–Mom and Dad laughing together about that kiss in their bedroom–unsettled me, and I couldn’t or didn’t want to name the reason.


After separating my shoulder a few years ago, when I climbed into bed that evening, I worried about rolling onto the shoulder because I usually slept on that side. Didn’t happen. I fell asleep and woke up on my back without moving. I think our bodies are smarter than we give them credit for.

Case in point, I did not get a hard-on in the night after my cock injury. I had fully expected to get one because it always happened. Always. But not that night.

The bandage was there in the morning, and my dick had stopped bleeding. A small maroon dot sat on the center of the gauze over the wound, and that’s it–apart from some soreness.

And, I acknowledged as I scrutinized my dick, some swelling around the tip.

Mom stopped by, and the first thing she asked after kissing my forehead was if the bandage held through the night.


“Oh, good,” she sighed. Then, she asked if I had been able to get any sleep.


“How’s the bleeding?”


“And the pain?”

“I can manage.”

“Does the area around your injury feel particularly warm?”

“I don’t think so. Bit of swelling, maybe.”

“Swelling? Let me see.”

I was done fighting her on the privacy thing. I rose and pulled down my boxers. Mom knelt and examined me.

“Okay,” she said. “Bandage looks good. I think it’ll make it through a school day, don’t you?”

I nodded.

She resumed. “We can replace it tonight.” Her index finger and thumb carefully felt around the tip and along the shaft. “It doesn’t have that signature heat that would indicate the beginning of infection, but I do see some redness and swelling.” Mom snaked two fingers between my dick and my nutsack, and she raised my cock to horizontal.

I looked away because my dick was pointed at her face, and she was just a few inches from it.

The tip of her thumb explored the tape of the bandage, and I was annoyed by how soothing her thumb felt. Suddenly, she stopped and let my cock down. Digging into the pocket of her fuzzy pajama bottoms, she pulled out a clear, medium-sized resealable bag and handed it to me. “For your shower,” she said. “Keep this poor guy dry, okay?”

I nodded.

She smiled.

And she kissed it again. It was quick and light, but this time, she came at it from the side, not kissing near the tip, but the root–right where it emerged from my pubic hairs. She rose quickly and looked at me as if daring me to say something, as if she was ready for any challenge to her right as mother to kiss her baby’s booboo.

I didn’t say anything.

She hugged me and left, advising, “Take some painkillers with you and have a good day.”

A few minutes later, I had my first post-puncture piss. When I finished, I was gasping. I was sweating profusely. It had been awful.

Don’t mistake me. It’s not like piss started spraying out of the new hole in my dick. It was the sensation of urine streaking so near the wound that ruined me. The tip hurt, but much worse was the hypersensitivity. The rushing flood was to my injured sex organ like fingernails on a chalkboard to my ears.


I grew to almost tolerate pissing as the day wore on, but that night brought on several new problems.

The first was my Dad. During dinner with the whole family gathered around, he spoke to me for the first time since the accident. Very seriously, he turned to me and said, “So, champ, tell me about this new young lady in your life.”

Mom froze, eyeing him warily.

Little Izzy’s eyes went wide. “You have a new girlfriend?” she asked me.

I stammered.

Dad interrupted, “Sure he does, kiddo. Barb, I think, is her name, isn’t it?” Then, he winked at me.

Mom put down her utensils, saying, “Dear!”

Dad erupted in laughter.

Mom’s face went pink. Watching Dad, her lips quivered. Quickly, she covered her face with her napkin, and her shoulders started shaking.

Izzy, sitting beside Mom, laughed because her parents were laughing. Hannah glanced back and forth between Dad and Mom, asking, “What? What?” My oldest sister, Lauren, sighed, shook her head, and continued eating.

Barely recovering from the fit, Dad added, “I hear she bites.” Not a second passed before he lost it. Mom waved her napkin at him twice, struggling to control herself. She looked at me apologetically, but her face was so red that I smiled. When I did, she burst into hooting giggles.

I ate; they laughed and apologized and laughed some more. At one point, Mom rose, walked over, and kissed my head, saying, “Thank you for putting up with your father.”

After dinner, since Lauren was showering in the bathroom I used, Mom met me in the master bathroom with her medical supply bin and a new, pre-made bit of gauze and tape. “Time to swap out this old bandage for a new one,” she said.

I nodded.

“Let’s have a look.”

I unbuckled my belt and took down my jeans. She knelt in front of me. Without asking, her fingers took up my cock, and she scrutinized the tip. “About the same,” she murmured. Then, glancing at me, she said, “I’m going to take this off.”

I nodded.

“The tape is going to hold tight to your skin,” she cautioned.

Sucking in a breath, I nodded again.

“Quickly,” she asked, nodding at the old bandage, “or carefully?”

“Qui–no. Carefully,” I replied, imagining the loose skin around my limp cock stretching to painfully shocking limits as the tape got yanked away.

She nodded. Tugging at an end with her fingernail, she managed to get under it. Using one hand to pull the tape and the other to keep my cock steady, she slowly peeled the adhesive strip free. Even so, she had to use a finger to pull the stretching skin of my cock away from the tape as she went around. It wasn’t so bad.

Once both sides of the tape were free, she carefully peeled the bandage back, but it got caught on the dried blood. I winced.

She looked up at me. “Sorry, baby.”

I nodded.

She tried again.


“Alright,” she said, quitting and staring at the place where the gauze clung to the tip of my dick. “Maybe–,” she muttered to herself. Then, she brought her finger to her lips and ejected a small dollop of saliva there. “If I moisten it just a teensy bit–,” she added, applying the spit to the joint. Pulling carefully, the gauze came free. “There!”

She glanced up at me proudly, and I mastered myself for long enough to mutter, “Thanks.”

Spinning from me, she began to gather her next set of supplies. I stood there, astonished. My mom, I told myself, had just rubbed her own spit into my dick. There was mommy saliva on my knob.

The tool she first brought out was a magnifying glass. Do I need to make clear how embarrassing it is when one’s mother is on her knees looking at one’s dick through a magnifying glass?

“Still swollen,” she muttered. “I don’t like the redness, but it isn’t hot.” She moved and looked. She lifted it and felt. “I don’t think it’s infected.”

Putting away the magnifying glass, she cleaned the area with an alcohol swab–ow!–applied a fresh coating of ointment, and bandaged it anew.

“Very good, baby,” she said, looking up at me. “I think you’re on the mend.”

I nodded.

“How good is your mother at nursing?”

“She’s the best,” I said, nodding appreciatively.

Mom beamed, and then she lifted my cock and kissed the very tip–the slit. Letting it down, she rose and said, “I don’t care where my babies are hurt; I’ll always kiss them and make them feel better.”

Clearing my throat, I muttered, “I know, Mom.”

She hugged me, kissed my cheek, and led me out.


At five in the morning, I woke up from a deep sleep and freakish dreams. I was in absolute anguish and lathered in sweat. My dick had rebelled; it grew hard in the night.

It wasn’t the erection that hurt worst; it was the tape, strangling the knob with ripping force.

I hissed swears as I yanked my boxers down. The shaft was perfectly rigid and straight, but the tape was tugging and bending the tip into hideous deformity. As quickly as I could, I peeled the two strips of adhesive loose, and then I collapsed onto my pillow, gasping and swearing.

Still hard a few minutes later, I rewrapped the tape around the tip. It no longer mattered if the bandage fell off went I went limp. The only thing that concerned me was not having to endure that crippling pain from the tape again. I took two more painkillers and eventually fell back asleep.

I didn’t wake up on my own the next morning. Mom came into my room and shook me awake. Rubbing my eyes, I checked the clock. I was only a few minutes later than usual.

“You must have been very tired,” Mom remarked, rubbing my hip.


“Sleep is the great healer,” she intoned. “Let’s get you up and have a look at your penis.”

I threw off the covers while Mom arranged herself on her knees. Forgetting what had happened during the night, I stretched while Mom pulled down my boxers and gasped.

I looked down. The bandage hung limply off the end of my dick, held there only by the tiniest bit of tape.

Mom looked up at me, worried. “Did–did you get hard in the night?”

I nodded, remembering.

“Did it hurt much?”


She moaned plaintively. Then, she kissed my dick, saying, “My poor baby, no.” Three-four-five kisses, she planted, and with each one, she murmured that little “mmm-wu” kissing sound. Finishing, she lifted the shaft and perused the knob. “At least it doesn’t look as red or swollen as before.”


Her thumb stroked the side. Right there, before her eyes, I felt my cock begin to grow.

Mom let it down without acknowledging the unmistakable change, and she rose. She didn’t mention it. She caressed my cheek and told me she had an idea, and then she left.

When she came back a few minutes later, she had two bandages prepared. One was in a plastic bag; the other ready to be applied. “This one,” she said, lifting the bag, “is in case you grow hard again.”

I nodded, feeling a touch of shame.

“Just excuse yourself to the bathroom with it, remove the old one, pull off the plastic, and put it on.”


“I tried to make it–make it big enough, you understand?” She handed it to me.

Taking the bag, I nodded, turning even more pink.

“Good,” she said, growing a touch flushed, herself. “Let me just put on this other one now.”

She did, and when she finished, she kissed the very end of my cock. Per usual, it was a short, gentle peck, but I couldn’t help but think that she’d fattened her lips a bit–puckered a tad more than usual.

She rose, petted my hair, kissed my cheek, and left, saying, “Don’t forget to keep it dry in your shower.”

“I will–I won’t–forget, I mean.”


Dad was on a business trip for the next few days, so I was relieved that I would not be subject to his wisecracks during dinner. Still, table conversation at dinner was a tad boring without him.

Afterward, Mom asked me to meet her in the master bathroom. Smiling, she said, “I found something at the doctor’s office today that I think might help.”

Standing beside the vanity, I watched her get on her knees in front of me. Her delicate fingers unhooked my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped them, and drew down my pants and underwear. The same bandage she had applied to my dick in the morning was there, looking clean and well-kept.

“No erection today?” she asked, looking up at me.

I shook my head.

“This looks good,” she said. “I don’t think there’s any need to change it.” Her fingers took the shaft and raised it. She looked it over. “Feeling okay?”


“Any pain?”

“Not much.”

“Trouble urinating?”


“Any problems with your testicles?” she asked, and her palm cupped my scrotum.

I drew in a sharp breath and shook my head.

“Because,” she explained, “they could get an infection from this, too.”

“They’re good.”

She released them, sliding her fingers very lightly over the sensitive skin. Then, she shook her head as if there was nothing else for her to do.

I didn’t want it to end. “Is–does the rest of it feel okay to you,” I asked.

Mom’s fingers slid over the shaft. She lifted it and ran her thumb back and forth along the side as she looked it over. “Yes,” she said, “I think you’re okay.”

Our eyes met.

She gave me a sympathetic smile and asked, “Okay?”

I nodded.

“Aw,” she murmured in that doting, motherly way, “there’s my strong, handsome boy–getting all better.” Then, approaching from the side again, she kissed the root of my cock with that “mmm-wu” sound, only this time, I felt her lips latch onto the flesh for the teensiest fraction of a second before pulling back.

Standing, her eyebrows rose high, “Oh, I almost forgot!” She spun and bent over her bin to dig out something. Facing me again, she held it up.

It was a roll of white medical tape, only it was crinkled–scrunched up.

“This,” she proclaimed, “is flexible medical tape. It expands and contracts, and even better, it won’t fall off.” She handed it to me.

I felt it–soft and pliable. I peeled the edge back and felt the adhesive. Grabby, but not too sticky. “Okay,” I said.

“Here’s the thing. The nurse told me how you put it on. She said if it was going over your knee, then the tape works the best when it is applied as the knee is fully bent. So, you stretch the tape out and stick it on, and when you extend your leg, it scrunches up but stays put.”


“So,” she said, rolling her eyes with a mixture of embarrassment and mirth, “you’ll put it on your penis when it’s hard, you see?”

“Oh, right,” I said, feeling my face get warm.

“And that way, when it gets soft again, the bandage stays put.”


“And this tape can go back and forth–hard-soft-hard-soft–and it will stay put just as if it were on a bending knee.”


She nodded, smiling as if awaiting my approval.

“Thanks, Mom. Cool find.”

She popped on her tippy-toes and kissed my lips. “Why, thank you, baby! I just knew you’d find it helpful.”

I nodded.

Growing serious, she said, “I assume you’ll know what to do.”

‘Yeah,” I muttered.

“Then, I’ll leave you a fresh bit of gauze, and you can put it on when–well, before you go to bed, okay?”


“And first thing in the morning, I want to know if it worked. So, may I come check on you?”



A few hours later, I climbed into bed with my night light on. The scrunchy tape and the gauze were beside me on my nightstand. The old bandage was wadded up beside them. My boxers were around my thighs, and I stared down at my cock.

I got hard instantly. I didn’t even touch my dick. I didn’t look at porn; I stared at my dick, and I remembered. I remembered Mom’s touches–how her supple thumb dragged back and forth along the shaft. I remembered Mom’s kisses–the way she planted five in a row on it after she heard about my painful erection. And the way she’d latched to it–ever so briefly–when she kissed it earlier that evening.

It was easy to put the new bandage on it, and I shut off the light. A part of me felt thrilled by everything that had happened since the barbed-wire fence accident. Another part remained disturbed by those same events, and especially how the remembrance of them brought about the thrumming erection tenting my sheets.

Without any petitions to the contrary, I knew my mom would provide daily care for our injuries from the moment she learned about them until the day they finally healed. However, as I grew older, I was often able to convince her that, at a certain point where she knew I was healing properly, she could let me take care of myself.

I didn’t want her to stop this time.

Maybe it was the types of people who lived out in the country where we lived, maybe it was the attitudes of the girls in my class or the grim disgust of our school’s sex ed teacher. Whatever the case, I grew up feeling like that part of me–my dick–was basically gross. It was nothing my parents instilled in me; I think it was more of a cultural thing.

So, to see my mom give my cock such tender, affectionate care was a revelation. I liked seeing her examine it. I liked how gently she touched it. I liked how she kissed it, sometimes with heartfelt sympathy and other times with motherly adoration. I wanted her to continue treating my dick.

Yet, my recovery had reached that point where, normally, I could tell her, “Hey, I’ve got it from here.” There was no infection. The puncture wound had scabbed over, and while there remained a small bruise, as long as I kept it clean, it would completely heal. Pissing was no longer a discomfort, and she had solved the bandage-erection problem.

To not ask her to let me take over the remaining rehab was to risk her discovering how much I appreciated and looked forward to how she ministered to my injured cock. But to ask her was to give up those comforting touches for good.

I fell asleep without any answers before my hard-on flagged.


Mom woke me when she quietly entered my room that morning. Stretching and yawning, I glanced at the clock and saw that she was five minutes earlier than when I normally got out of bed.

“Hey,” I uttered.

“Good morning, baby,” she said. She came over and sat on the side of my bed.

I rolled on my side toward her, and she leaned down and kissed my lips.

“Feeling alright this morning?”

I nodded, rubbing my eyes. She caressed my shoulder.

“Sleep well enough?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, closing my eyes and enjoying her gentle touch.

“Can I see how the tape worked?”


“I would like to see how the new tape worked in keeping the bandage on your penis.”

I opened my eyes. “Yeah,” I said. Then, I felt it. I was rock-hard. “Wait–.”

“What is it, baby?”

“I’m–Mom, it’s–.” I couldn’t finish.

“You’re hard right now?”

I nodded sheepishly.

Looking thoughtful for a moment, she replied, “That might mean it is the best time for me to see–if you don’t mind showing me.”

I opened my mouth and closed it.

“Here,” she said soothingly. She put her hands on my shoulders and rolled me onto my back. “Close your eyes and just think of me as your nurse.” Her fingers curled under my comforter and sheets, and she began peeling them down. “I’ll take the quickest of looks, and we’ll be done, okay?”

I couldn’t say yes or no. I couldn’t move. I kept my eyes tightly shut, feeling the covers drop down over my knees.

She could see it now, I realized. The front of my boxers had to look obnoxiously misshapen. I waited for her to say something.

She didn’t.

Her fingers slid under my boxers and stretched them wide. I felt the waistband lower onto my balls. My cock breathed in the morning air.

Mom didn’t say a word.

I kept my eyes shut.

She tugged my boxers further down–to my legs. I was completely exposed to her, and I felt like a concrete piling down there. The skin around it felt abnormally–almost painfully–taut.

Why wasn’t she saying anything?

Two warm, soft fingers slid along my tummy, underneath my cock. They began to raise my hard-on up, toward the ceiling. It resisted her–that’s how hard I was. Adding the remainder of her fingers and grabbing the shaft, Mom brought my cock to a vertical position.

I wanted to open my eyes. What was she doing? Why hadn’t she said even a–.

“Well, I would call that a glorious success,” she announced. “Look, baby.”

I opened my eyes. The bandage was there and in good shape. Mom was right; her new tape had worked. But, I didn’t care so much about her scrunchy tape test; I cared about the warm, feminine hand that gripped the base of my cock.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “It–it worked.”

She smiled appreciatively, and then she looked down at the cock in her fist. Surveying it from a few angles, she remarked, “Just look at how tall and proud you are!”

The joy on her face as she uttered these words transported me. For the first time in my life, I saw my mother through my father’s eyes. That long, lush brown hair. Those big eyes and expressive eyebrows. The intimate smile, so ready to share her excitement with me. She was eminently desirable. Beautiful. Thrilling.

I couldn’t speak. I swallowed in a dry throat.

Looking at my hard cock, her grin faded into something thoughtful. She turned to me. “Baby, have you been able to ejaculate since this happened?”

“No,” I replied. “I mean, it hasn’t happened.” I swallowed again, feeling myself turn pink.

She let go of the shaft and curled her fingers around my balls. Everything was already scrunched up down there, so the entire contraption fit snugly in her hand. Her fingers undulated comfortingly before she said, “Maybe you ought to make sure there are no problems.”


She nodded. “Make sure there is no unexpected discomfort,” she said. “And have a look at your semen while you’re at it. See that there’s no discoloration.”

“Okay.” I must have been bright red at that point.

“Good,” she murmured, releasing my balls and setting her hand on my leg with a sigh. “Well, I suppose I’ll check on your sisters and get started on breakfast.” She stood.



“Will you–?” I hesitated. I didn’t know how to ask, but the need was so fierce, the words just spilled from me. “I mean, will you do that thing you do–when you make me feel better?”

She looked at me curiously. She looked at my cock and let out a faint gasp. Turning back to me with a sympathetic smile, she said, “I almost forgot, didn’t I?”

I nodded.

She sat by my hip, bent over my hard-on, and whispered, “A big kiss for you this time.” She closed her eyes, and as her face approached my cock, her lips fattened and parted. They landed behind the tip and between the two strips of tape–very near that most sensitive of places.

I almost grunted when those soft lips latched onto me. For a full second, she remained, and I felt enough wetness and suction that my cock throbbed just as she drew back with an audible pop.

I know my jaw hung open when Mom sat up and turned to me, smiling and petting my hair. “We can’t have me forgetting to kiss my baby’s booboo, can we?”

I shook my head, unable to speak.

“Alright,” she cooed. Then, she covered me with the sheets, rose, and left my bedroom.


I needed to cum. The urge had never been stronger, and I knew that when I did, it would be explosive.

But I didn’t snap out a quick jerk off session in my bed that morning. A small part of the decision rested upon the fear that it might actually hurt. A smaller contributing factor was impracticality. I didn’t want to do it with the bandage on, and I didn’t want to have to make a new bandage. The deciding factor, however, was that I simply didn’t want to make myself cum; I wanted my Mom to make me cum. I wanted her to experience the volcanic deluge of semen that lurked inside me.

It was horrible for me to think. Indecent and perverted. I was ashamed of myself, but this fizzling geyser of cum, I told myself, was for Mom.

I didn’t even try to pay attention in school. I let my mind relive the previous days, and I lingered on how beautiful my mom was. How caring and attentive. How maddeningly alluring.

I envied my dad so much that my heart ached. He had won the wife lottery, hadn’t he?

When I wasn’t reminiscing or yearning, I was imagining the next time she inspected my dick. How could I help nudge her from caring to performing? There didn’t seem to be any logical next step. From kissing my booboo to stroking my dick seemed an impossible gulf.

And what if I could bridge the gulf? What if I found some ploy, and it worked? What next? Mom’s honesty might compel her to tell Dad.

That stopped me. I didn’t like the idea that my hideous lust might terribly upset Dad, rob him of his playful sense of humor, and wreck our family.

Maybe what I needed to do, I concluded, was to jerk off tonight and tell Mom that I could take care of myself going forward.


After dinner, I met up with some friends to study for a Chemistry test the next day. I returned home just after ten that evening.

My plan was simple. First, jerk off and shower. Then, thank Mom for her help and let her know that I was going to handle things.

I didn’t see Mom downstairs, so I went up. Izzy and Hannah were in bed, lights out. Lauren was in the shower. Peering down the hall, I saw light under the master bedroom door and Mom’s cackling laughter from behind it. I wandered over and listened.

“You’re so naughty!” she said, giggling.

She was on the phone with Dad. I smiled because I knew he was the only person who could both make her laugh that hard and shock her with something inappropriate.

“No, the question is why something like that makes you so–,” she stopped, listening to Dad’s reply, no doubt.

Something like what? I asked myself.

“I told you. It was an accident,” she argued. “Oh, yes it was! I wouldn’t–.” She suddenly burst into a fresh fit of laughter. Responding to some query from Dad, Mom said, “Because I’d already done it once–by accident–and to not to would have drawn more attention to the accident, made us both feel all the more uncomfortable about it.”

Blinking, I realized they might be talking about–.

“Your son needed caring, dear. You wouldn’t want him to lose his penis to infection, would you?”

They were talking about me. I froze. Adrenaline flooded my body.

“This morning,” Mom replied. After a pause, she said, “And dear? I have to confess something–he was hard.” Then, after another beat, she said, “Yes, I did,” as if daring Dad to disagree. Another short pause and Mom exploded in laughter, repeating, “I know–I know!”

I swallowed.

“Well, it reminds me a lot of someone else’s that I know quite intimately,” she told him, giggling girlishly.



She suddenly gasped. She very girlishly argued, “I would not!” Then, a moment later: “I do not!”

A pause. “Dear!”

There was a long pause through which Mom guffawed twice before saying, “Am I? Well, yes, to be truthful. I suppose I am–a little bit. There’s something thrilling in the thought of–.”

“What are you doing?” a new voice, from behind me, asked.

I started and spun.

Lauren, in her bathrobe with a towel around her head, stood outside the bathroom door.

“I–I just got back from studying, and I was going to talk to Mom,” I explained. “But she’s–she’s on the phone with Dad.”

“You were listening at her door.”


She shook her head and went to her room.

I went to mine, not wanting to get caught again. Lauren would have used most of the hot water, I told myself, so I’ll shower in the morning.

Laying on my bed and puzzling over the conversation I had heard, I understood two things. First, Dad knew about the cock kisses, and it seemed like he was good-naturedly teasing Mom over them. Second, Mom wasn’t particularly ashamed about the situation; she saw the joy in it, too.

But there was something else, and I told myself I couldn’t name it because I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. That wasn’t exactly true. A subconscious thought tickled my waking mind–something I knew or suspected but found too alarming to let the notion take shape and consider.

Shaking it off, I told myself I had a job to do. The door was locked, and I had a clean towel beside me. I pulled off my jeans and tugged down my boxers. It would be easier, I knew, to strip off the bandage once I was hard. I closed my eyes and let my mind latch onto the image of one of my female classmates, a popular, skinny one.

I put us in a scenario and added to it. Soon, we were making out. I imagined her fingers exploring my cock, checking it out.

Nothing was happening. I opened my eyes.

Sighing, I decided to imagine a different girl, a darker, more voluptuous one. Two minutes into the newer, dirtier scenario, I quit again.

“Damn it,” I whispered.

Mom, my thoughts suggested. She can help you now.

I closed my eyes and let her loving presence saturate my mind. Her soft, lingering touches. Her eyebrows and how they pinched together to express her warm compassion. Her smile when she looked at my cock. Her lips. The way she called me “Baby” with such affection.

All the kisses. Each one, and especially the last one–the one where she latched onto the underside for a fleeting, astonishing second.

I opened my eyes and stared at the tower before me. Removing the bandage was easy, like peeling wall putty from smooth steel. Setting the gauze and tape aside, I closed my eyes and began.

It didn’t hurt. I buzzed with warmth; it was dizzying. I had to quit because it was happening so quickly. Gasping, I let go of myself and swore, feeling my dick throb in the air.

There was a knock at my door.


The handle turned and caught on the lock. “It’s me, baby. Can I come in?”

“Wait,” I said. Standing, I yanked up my shorts. At the door, I stood behind it as I unlocked and opened it for her.

Mom walked inside wearing a tight tank top and her fuzzy pajama bottoms. Her hair had been pulled into a sprightly ponytail.

I closed the door, and she reached out for me. Too captivated by her presence, I didn’t resist her embrace; I welcomed it. Cradling the back of my head, she kissed my lips very softly, and my hard cock landed upon and throbbed against the smooth plain of her tummy.

“Oh!” she huffed, stepping back and seeing it warp the front of my boxers. “I’m sorry, baby. Were you–?”

I went back to my bed without a word, and I pulled down my boxers. Mom watched my cock wobble.

“Alright,” she murmured. “I’ll–I’ll just have a quick look then and leave you to your privacy.” She sat beside me, caressing my bare chest before giving my cock her attention.

I saw her throat undulate. There, on the tip of my cock, perched a fat, shining bead of precum.

“I see you had no difficulty removing the bandage by yourself,” she said.

I shook my head and waited.

She reached out. Her fingers clasped it and drew it straight up. The precum quivered. My cock throbbed, feeding more of the clear fluid to the already fattened bead.

Mon bent down toward my tummy. The end of her ponytail alighted on my skin. She surveyed the knob. “It–it looks to be healing perfectly.” Rising, she turned to me and asked, “Does it hurt when you–?”

I shook my head.

“I’m glad,” she said, and her fingers relaxed and re-gripped me. My cock throbbed again.

The dollop of pre-cum tumbled down the tip. Mom sucked in a shallow breath. Together, we watched the bead slide over the ridge and down the shaft. Banking around thick veins, it glided until it found the side of Mom’s thumb and perched there, trembling.

Mom stared at her thumb without moving or reacting. Then, making the tiniest hum, Mom switched hands on my cock. She drew the freshly adorned digit to the level of her breasts. She opened and closed her mouth. She looked between me and that glistening drop.

“Precum,” she murmured. “That’s–that’s a good sign–for your health, I mean.”

I didn’t say a word.

Mom swallowed. “Did you know that it tastes mildly sweet?”

I shook my head from side to side. With a gun to my eye, I couldn’t have spoken.

“Maybe,” Mom continued, “it can tell me if everything’s working properly.” She didn’t wait for me to reply, she brought her thumb to her mouth and closed her lips over the droplet.

My mouth fell open because Mom’s left hand slowly, tenderly began stroking my cock. I don’t even think she knew she was doing it. Still savoring the precum in her mouth, she blinked. A shy grin appeared, and she told me it tasted very good.

It was then she glanced at her left hand. She immediately stopped and drew her hand away. “Pardon me, ba–!” She closed her mouth. A fresh bead of precum welled from the slit. “Oh,” she whispered with her eyes fixed upon it.

She swallowed again. Never looking at me, she gripped my cock in her right hand and stroked it once–slowly, firmly, like a loving massage. Up and down. Her eyes leered at that shiny glob. Then, Mom expressed the shaft, urging more precum through the tip. Leaning close, she closed her lips over the slit and nursed the fluid directly from the source.

I gasped.

Mom swallowed and drew free. The wet smack that ended her taste was immediately followed by a low, faint sigh. She rose. Her face was pink and flushed. Turning to me, she stammered, “Daddy–. Your dad, he told me he didn’t–. He didn’t mind it if I–.” She didn’t finish.

I found my voice. “I understand, Mom.”

She swallowed and nodded.

“And,” I said, “you want to, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she burst. “I do.”

“I really need it, Mom.”

“Oh, let me help you, then!” she almost cried. Letting go of my cock, she stretched her fingers out and slid them firmly and sensually over my chest, smiling with excitement and compassion. When her eyes once again found my cock, she murmured, “Let Mommy give it the biggest kiss she can.” Planting her hands beside my hips on the bed, she bent over my belly.

She covered the knob with her lips and drew my cock straight up before humming, taking a quick breath through her nose, and gliding down the shaft. Her every move was replete with languid adoration. Down she went, and she held there, exploring. Then up, slowly, like she was revealing to an audience some marvel that she’d hidden in her mouth. At the top, she moaned deeply.

I gasped.

Gathering her breath, she descended again with painstaking lethargy. My mouth fell open as she gathered up more than last time. More.

I pinched my eyes shut and grunted.

The sound of my pleasure made her moan again. She drew back gradually, gently rocking her head from side to side while my cock, like a thing hypnotized by her, followed the movements of her mouth.

She never used her hands.

Down. Deeper. I watched her lips gather further inches of dry cock to make them wet with her saliva. I swallowed and gasped.

She went so, so slowly. The love of a mother for her son infused her every movement. Those lips hugged me closely, warmly–as if they never wanted to let me go. But they did–just once. When her eyes found mine, the seal broke when she smiled.

Then, she went deep–very deep. I gasped, and my cock began throbbing almost continuously.

Her ride back up to the fat knob was slower than ever, and she didn’t yield up those inches gained without first bobbing fractionally at each point in her climb to the top.

I didn’t think anything would feel better than her deep dive; I was wrong. Panting and stammering, I rose to my elbows and, watching her fat lips tow back up to the shining knob, only managed to groan, “Mom!”

Instantly she drew off. Her right hand swept in and took up the shaft, pumping it. A hand’s width above the fat, purple head, Mom gaped her mouth and unfurled her tongue.

I held my breath, feeling every muscle clench. The pleasure was so sharp that my eyes pinched shut, but only for a moment. I knew what was coming; I wanted to see how she received it.

The throbbing became uncontrollable, and I watched a jet of semen launch recklessly from the tip. It skipped off of her tongue and slashed across her cheek. The next moment, her head plummeted, taking almost all of the shaft.

I grunted, kicked my head back, and let my mind romp as the remainder of my cum flung and gushed directly into her throat. At every throbbing contraction, Mom moaned.

When the pulses abated, I opened my eyes and watched her. She didn’t move. She breathed through her nostrils a few times. She hummed. I felt her throat undulate and heard a muffled cluck.

I let out a long, groaning sigh. There were too many astonishing things for my mind to gather up, but feeling her swallow my cum had been the absolute perfect, loving conclusion.

Mom let my cock free with a gasp. Her mouth formed a gaping grin as she gasped for breath. Seeing my face–and I must have looked, well, like a young man who had just gotten a glorious first blowjob–Mom laughed airily.

She wiped the streak of cum from her cheek and licked the finger clean. Wheezing, she collapsed onto my tummy, and I felt her breasts squeeze my cock in a motherly embrace. “I’ve never in my life,” she huffed, “swallowed so much semen at once.” She sighed and chuckled.

I held her, scratching her back lightly through her tank top and wondering just what she meant by “at once.”

“Did you enjoy it, baby?” she asked.

“Oh, my gosh,” I muttered with awe.

She laughed.

“It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Better even than getting Barney for Christmas?” she asked.

“Mom,” I protested, “you know I can’t–”

“I know, baby. I was teasing,” she said, sighing. I kept making circles on her back with my fingers. “That feels nice,” she cooed. Then, she snuggled into me, humming sweetly. “How I’ve missed cuddling with you.”

“I love you, Mom.”

Her head rose, and her eyes found mine. “And I love you. Every part of you, I adore with all my heart.”

I hugged her and scratched her back. She settled into me again.

“Your semen,” she whispered, “tastes perfectly healthy.”

Wow. Those were not words I ever expected to hear from her. Things had changed. I felt free to ask her a question about the blowjob. “Mom,” I began, “when did you first think about doing that?”

“Sucking it?”


“Since your injury?”


“Baby, I thought about sucking your penis when you hauled it out of your jeans and showed me–blood and all. I can’t help myself.”

“Wait–did you think about doing it before I got hurt?”

“Why, yes.”

“When was the first time?”

She told me.

I said, “What?!”

She nodded, giggling. “It’s true, and though you wouldn’t remember, I’ve actually sucked on it once before, only very briefly.”

“No, you haven’t!”

She laughed and told me another story. She was right; I would not have remembered.

“Why?” I asked.

“It was there, and it was lovely, and I adore you and wanted you to feel special–even for just a few seconds in secret.”

“Does Dad know?”

Mom turned to me. “I don’t keep secrets from my husband.”

I nodded, and then I stopped. A question nagged at me.

Mom must have read it in my eyes. She said, very seriously, “Your father wouldn’t share me with anyone in the world–except you. I think he’s proud of me, so proud that he was willing to let me do this.”

“And you?”

“It thrilled me to excite you, and truth be told, I agreed with your father. I wanted you to know about the special way that I can love you.”

“Just tonight?” I asked.

“I certainly hope not.”

I hugged her tightly.

She laughed and snuggled, and she told me she loved me beyond even the stars. I liked how her breasts hugged my cock.


Dad was back from his work trip when I got home from school on Friday. Mom baked homemade pizza for dinner, a favorite for all of us. Mom leaned over and wiped the sauce from little Izzy’s face. Hannah grinned and added a fresh slice to her plate. Lauren and Dad chatted together about basketball.

During a lull in the conversation, Dad turned to me and said, “Hey, champ, Mom tells me there’s a new lady in your life?”

“Another new girlfriend?” Hannah asked, exasperated.

“A new, new girlfriend,” Izzy offered, giggling.

Mom froze with a slice halfway between her plate and her lips, watching Dad with a hint of a smirk.

I cleared my throat. I stammered. Finally, I said, “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.”

“What’s her name again, babe?” Dad asked Mom.

Mom set down the slice. She knew Dad’s little routines. She replied, “I told you once, dear.”

Dad said, “Oh, right. I remember. Her name is Mora.”

“Mora?” Lauren asked, glancing between me and Dad.

“Sure,” Dad said. “Mora–but I can’t quite recall–. She’s got one of those hyphenated last names. Oh, yeah, Cox-Tukiss is her last name.”

Lauren shook her head. “Never heard of her,” she muttered.

Hanna and Izzy considered the name for a moment before shrugging and eating.

Mom covered her mouth with her napkin, shoulders shaking.

Dad winked at me. He said, “I hear she’s got a sore throat, champ.”

My face went bright red, I’m sure.

Stifling giggles, Mom cleared her throat and said, “A few doses of special cough syrup tonight, and I’m sure she’ll be just fine.”


End Note: Thanks for reading. Errors are mine. Thoughtful comments are always appreciated.


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