‘Mmmm, Henry is being a good boy for Mummy,’
This made me moan around her breast as she began to masturbate me. It didn’t take long for my balls begin to tingle and I knew I was close. My buttocks clenched and my mother knew what was happening.
‘Cum for Mummy Henry. That’s it, be a good boy and cum for Mummy!’
I exploded all over her hand, my chest and even over her naked left breast. She continued to stroke me until she was sure she had milked me dry. It was probably the most satisfying orgasm that I’d ever had.
She leaned close to me and whispered into my ear, ‘What a naughty boy you are Henry. Mummy will punish you for making her hands all sticky.’
With that she got up and left the room.
I had a fitful nights sleep and laid in bed longer than normal the next morning. I was apprehensive about going back downstairs where I would see her but deciding to bite the bullet I pulled on a pair of shorts and a polo shirt and went to face the music. I was sure there would be recriminations but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
‘Good morning sleepy head!’ she said cheerfully. I mumbled a good morning back.
She was wearing a long white silk robe that clung to the contours of her body. I could see she was naked underneath as her nipples poked through the silky material and the silk moulded to her round but firm bottom.
She pottered around the kitchen as I poured orange juice into a glass and popped a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster.
‘I’m just going to have a shower.’ she said and with that she walked out of the kitchen and up to her bedroom. My eyes followed her delicious silk clad bottom as she climbed the stairs, her hips swaying as she walked.
I sat eating my breakfast and wondered what game she was playing. What ever it was it was drawing me in. My cock was again hard and throbbing.
After breakfast and as I was getting ready to go out there was a knock on my bedroom door and once again my mother walked in. Luckily I’d just finished pulling up my jeans. She was wearing a yellow summer dress that came down to her knees, bare legged and wearing cream heels. She looked very nice and I told her so.
‘Here!’ she exclaimed and handed me a wad of bank notes.
‘I’ve taken it from your Trust Fund. Enough for pocket money but not enough for you to run away with.’ She said sarcastically.
When my father died he had set up a large trust for me and I would receive the money when I was twenty five but until then my mother was a trustee along with her older sister Cynthia and although they were allowed to access the income for my benefit they would only do it if they thought it fit to do so.
I thanked her although she was only giving me my money but I wanted to keep her happy. I also realised then that it was another way of controlling me. When I was living away from home I had asked her to use some of the money from my Trust so I could live more comfortably. She refused and said that if I wanted money then I had to come home.
I spent most of the day out of the house reflecting on the last twenty four hours and wondering what the evening would bring.