Answers for Michael 01

“Mom, I need your help.” Her sons voice stabbed through the darkness of the master bedroom yanking her up from a deep sleep.

“Dammit, Michael!” Her husband’s voice shot back toward the slant of light emitting from the hallway through the bedroom door, revealing the silouette of their son who had taken just a step inside. “It’s…it’s almost two in the morning and I have to get up in three hours – I have a Tee-time. What is it, son?”

“I don’t need your help, dad. I need mom.” Michael replied, as if his request were nothing, if not perfectly reasonable, even at this hour of the morning. David laid his hand on his wife’s hip and gently rocked her.

“Del, are you awake?” She rolled over and sat up, a bit more quickly than she had intended, pulling her nightgown tightly across her body, stretching the light cotton across her breasts revealing her very erect nipples; she must have been dreaming.



“Yes, I’m awake. How could I not be awake with you two shouting at each other!” She raised a hand to block the light that suddenly stung her eyes, her other arm clutched reflexively to her breast to cover her exposed arousal. “Whatever it is, Michael, it can wait till the morning. And what did I tell you about barging into our room without knocking?” Since he was a boy testing the boundaries of his will, Michael never saw much beyond his personal needs. If a barrier presented itself between himself and what he wanted or needed, he did not hesitate to crash right through, completely unaware or, more to the truth, void of any concern how the intrusion affected others around him. Now, at 15, his apathetic view of anyone’s needs but his own had become almost…psychopathic. This trait was not lost to his mother.

Just last Wednesday, he had come home from school at noon; it was an early release day that Del had forgotten about, much to her regret. Del did not masturbate often, but when the craving did hit her, she could count on a few hours of privacy midday through the week when her husband was at work and her son was at school. She had a bought a 9”, very thick, dildo at the adult bookstore on the edge of town a couple of years ago. The dildo was a bit bigger than what she intended to buy, but she had worn her sunglasses into the dimly lit establishment to conceal her identity and ended up buying the first sex toy she could readily identify from behind the dark lenses. It was big, all to the good she later discovered. That hard, thick piece of silicone had become her trusted friend and companion when the sap began to rise.

Wednesday, a very specific memory revisited her. A memory that, once fully realized in her mind’s eye, would not leave until she chased it away with several mind bending orgasms spurred on by stabbing that exquisitely long and thick phallus deep into her drenched pussy.

The memory was of an incident that happened very shortly after she and David had married; she had been sexually assaulted by a friend of her husband.