In the Onania Masturbator Forum, a Masturbator Wrote:
“Oh, it looks like she’s waiting for you,” Emily said, spotting Mrs. Young standing out on the shaded front porch of Ashley’s robin’s egg blue house. “Is your Mother still masturbating you?” she asked.
Ashley got off the bus, turned around and waited. After a few of the other students came down the steps and started on their own ways home, Ashley spotted Emily’s long brown hair, which went down almost to her waist. Emily was taller than Ashley by a few inches, and was on the skinny side. Today she was wearing a simple pale yellow t-shirt under an unfashionable brown cardigan, with a light blue skirt, blue tights and brown Mary Janes.
Ashley was waiting for her to get off the bus after him, but it wasn’t because she sat further back on the bus. That was where the popular and rowdy teens sat. No, she sat near the front of the bus, but was too polite and shy to push her way into the line of students getting off the bus, so she waited until all of them had gone and then picked up her backpack and got out of her seat. She kept her head down as though she believed her height was an insult to the other students she loomed over. She wasn’t a popular girl by any stretch of the imagination, and though Ashley certainly didn’t think she was ugly, she didn’t have the kind of face that would turn boys’ heads. Some boys called her “horse-face,” though Ashley wasn’t really sure what that meant. He liked horses. But Emily herself thought her nose was too big and she was self-conscious about her braces. Ashley knew all of these things and Emily because she had confided in him. They had been best friends for years.
As soon as Emily stepped off the bus, Ashley smiled at her and they began to walk away from the bus stop together. They had walked for a few minutes before either of them spoke, and by that time none of the other students that had gotten off the bus at their stop were in sight. Ashley and Emily were both shy by nature, and enjoyed their privacy.
“I really hate P.E. class,” Ashley said. “I can’t wait until this year is over, and then I’ll never have to take it again.”
“I don’t mind it,” Emily replied, “except I’d rather not play in groups. If it were just racquetball or tennis or volleyball with a couple of people, that would be fun.”
“I’d like that, too,” Ashley said. “We could be on a team. Just so long as we could play against someone who wasn’t going to just totally dominate us.” Ashley had never been athletic, or remotely interested in sports. That wasn’t to say that he was flabby; just the opposite, he was short for his age and slender. He eagerly looked forward to the day when he would finally have some sort of growth spurt and spring up like the other guys in his class, but every year that failed to happen, and every year he felt more and more like maybe this was all he was ever going to get. The thought made him deeply self-conscious in P.E. class especially, when he had to strip down to his shorts and t-shirt with all the rest of the guys. Changing clothes in the boys’ locker room was the worst, and he had never used the showers. Part of his sensitivity to his body included a certain meticulousness about his personal hygiene, so he did what he could with a washcloth and deodorant, and showered once he got home. He wanted to feel clean and to smell nice, but the prospect of taking off all of his clothes and standing completely nude amidst all of the other guys in his class in the group showers was too mortifying.
“Did you ask Brittney if she’d go with you to Homecoming?” Emily asked. changing the subject.
“No,” he answered, feeling embarrassed.
“Why not? Time’s running out. Didn’t you say she didn’t have a date yet?”
“I didn’t ask because…” The truth was, Ash had wanted to ask Brittney. He’d had a crush on her for a few months now, though he barely knew anything about her. They sat across from each other in Algebra and had commiserated over their mutual dislike of math. She was on the fringes of the popular crowd, and very cute. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a nice tan. But he never even got the chance to work up his courage and ask her.
He sighed, “My Mom said I couldn’t go.”
“Still grounded?” Emily asked sympathetically. Her cheeks colored a bit, and Ashley noticed it.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry,” Emily said. “I don’t have a date, either. Maybe I won’t go. I could come over and we could hang out in the backyard or something?”
“You should go,” Ashley said. “Someone’s going to ask you, I’m sure. Besides, Mom isn’t about to let me hang out with a girl any time soon.”
Emily’s cheeks felt flushed and warm, and she wished her body would stop reacting. “I’m sorry.” she said again. She was the sort of girl who would apologize for everything, often more than once, even if it had nothing to do with her. Ashley had first met Emily when he had been running to catch the bus one morning and accidentally bumped into her on the sidewalk, knocking her down and scattering the books she held in her arms. When he checked to see if she was all right, she had looked at him with tears in her eyes and a bruised knee and said “Sorry.” He felt so badly that he had helped pick up her books and given her his shoulder to lean on while she limped with him to the bus stop.
“It’s not your fault,” Ashley said, beginning to feel his face getting warm, as well. They were nearing his block, and soon he would have to part ways with his friend and face the afternoon alone.
“Hopefully she won’t stay mad,” Emily offered. “Maybe she’ll decide you’ve been punished enough by the time Homecoming comes around. We could always go together if that happened.”
“Thanks,” Ashley said without much enthusiasm. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of going to Homecoming with Emily, but his Mother was stubborn even on a good day. She never let go of a grudge, and after what he did, he didn’t think she would ever be convinced he’d been punished enough.
Emily reached out and squeezed Ashley’s hand. It felt strange to him – they had never held hands before; that was something that you did with your girlfriend, and Emily was just his friend. But after her offer had put the image in his head of slow-dancing with Emily, with her in a dress, the feeling of her slim cool sandy-tan hand in his was unexpectedly welcome. It made him think of what her skin might feel like elsewhere.
Though his hormone-addled mind often sent his imagination into flights of erotic fancy, even at the slightest provocation, he had never really entertained sexual fantasies about Emily. Somehow it felt wrong. At the same time, it wasn’t like he didn’t think she was cute. She wasn’t attractive in the way that the other guys he knew would say; he knew they often made fun of her unusual looks, and so he kept those thoughts to himself. Brittney was much more conventionally attractive, and that meant she was a socially acceptable girl to ask out on a date. But he and Emily had always seemed to share an unspoken understanding that they were just friends, and would never be more than that to each other. It was more like she was a sister than girlfriend material. That’s what Ashley imagined having a sister would be like, though, since he only had older brothers, and they were all old enough to have gone off to college or started families of their own. Ashley was the youngest, and now the only one still living at home with his Mother.
They crossed the crosswalk and passed the massive tree in the front yard of 1320 Maple, which marked the home stretch for Ashley. They were on his block now, and his house would be the third one on the left. Ashley felt a flash of anxiety, but it passed quickly and was replaced by a sense of resignation. He wanted to keep on walking with Emily, past his own house and beyond it to Emily’s house, where he could hang out with her and listen to music on YouTube and do homework together and talk about books they were reading for fun instead of for class. But Ashley knew that would only make things worse for him.
“Oh, it looks like she’s waiting for you,” Emily said, spotting Mrs. Young standing out on the shaded front porch of Ashley’s robin’s egg blue house. “Is your Mother still masturbating you?” she asked.
Ashley felt his penis give a sudden response in his shorts, as though it knew it was being spoken about. It was involuntary, and beyond his control to prevent. He looked up the street and saw his Mother, who met his gaze and put her hands on her hips expectantly. His erection grew exponentially at the sight of her, and he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Yeah.” he mumbled, wishing Emily didn’t know so much about him. He was glad that she was always there to comfort him when he needed it, and he would do the same for her. But the fact that she knew this about him made him feel small and ridiculous. He wanted to belong to her world, where this sort of thing didn’t happen. As she glanced down at the now-apparent bulge in the crotch of his shorts, he caught her gaze and felt ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” Emily said, feeling awkward and embarrassed herself but not wanting to leave her friend. Her parents rarely needed to punish her, and the last time she could remember getting any kind of corporal punishment was when she was a little kid. This was completely outside of her experience. “Is it…does it feel good? Is that why you get…you know, hard? For your Mom?”
Ashley swallowed hard, wishing he didn’t have to answer that question, but he was spared that indignity when his Mother called for him sternly. “Get over here now, young man!”
“Bye,” Emily said, looking at Ashley with sad eyes. Her look of pity made him feel a mixture of thankfulness that she remained his friend even after discovering this about him, and deep embarrassment at how little he felt like a man in front of her. More like a little boy, he thought, but different. Weaker. More vulnerable.
Perverted.
“Now!” his Mother repeated, a bit louder, and Ashley jogged home. His stiff penis bobbed awkwardly with every step, though he wasn’t very big down there and his shorts, now tight in the front, held him more or less in place. Ashley bounded up the steps and came to stand in front of his Mother, almost at military attention. She stood there, wearing a blue dress, nylons, and dark heels, looking as though she must have only recently come home from work. She looked Ashley over with a critical eye.
Mrs. Young was in good shape for a mother of four boys. She had married young after getting pregnant with her oldest, and Emily was sure that she was younger than her own mother. But despite her good figure, she had a severe kind of beauty and often wore a frown, both of which intimidated Emily. The first time Emily had met Mrs. Young, Ashley’s mother had looked her up and down and said, “Are you the Ugly Duckling? You’re not cute enough to be Cinderella.” She didn’t know what she had done to deserve that cutting little joke at her expense, and she wondered if Mrs. Young had said it because she didn’t like Emily. Now that she knew a bit more about Ashley’s home life, she thought maybe Mrs. Young was trying to make Ashley feel bad about his “girlfriend.” She had never tried to correct Mrs. Young’s mistaken assumption, and she wondered if it would make things easier on Ashley if she did.
Ashley shrugged off his backpack and stood in front of his mother, feeling his cheeks flushed hot. His Mother glanced over his shoulder, seeing Emily on the sidewalk, having slowed her pace and glancing up at them meekly. Mrs. Young turned her attention back to her son. “Are you ready for your punishment?” she asked sternly.
Ashley nodded without a word. Mrs. Young reached out and grasped the front of Ashley’s shorts. She unbuttoned them, tugged down the zipper, and then hooked her thumbs underneath the elastic waistband of his underwear. In one firm motion, Mrs. Young yanked Ashley’s shorts and underwear down around his ankles. Ashley shut his eyes as he felt the cool breeze blowing on his bare bottom and under his scrotum. His penis bounced up and pointed skyward in front of his Mother.
Emily watched, her brown eyes wide open. Her face felt hot and her heartbeat quickened at the shock of the sudden sight. Mrs. Young held up a pair of pink panties in front of her son, holding them open between her hands as if presenting them to Ashley. “Do these look familiar?” his Mother asked in a sneering tone. “Did you miss them while you were at school?” Ashley didn’t say anything.
Mrs. Young bent down and held them open for him. Without question or hesitation, Ashley lifted his feet out of the tangle of his shorts and underwear, one at a time, and stepped into the panties while his Mother held them open. Once he had left his boy clothes behind on the ground, she pulled them up tightly, so high that they rode up between Ashley’s pale, clenched buttocks like a thong. Then she let go of the waistband, letting it snap loudly against his hips. She put one arm around him, holding him up against her body. He awkwardly leaned forward with his Mother’s nyloned thigh between his legs, and his panty-covered erection rubbing against their sleekness. Mrs. Young reached down and grasped the waistband of his pink panties, holding him in place by them, and spanked him several times with her free hand as he clung to her professional-looking work dress. “Naughty naughty pansy! Naughty naughty jerk-off!” She emphasized each word with a spank on his bottom cheeks, which peeked out from beneath his panty-wedgie. “Never take your Mommy’s panties! Stop masturbating! Naughty little jerk-off!”
By now, Ashley’s penis, snug in its panty-prison, was so stimulated both by the feeling of his Mother’s hand pulling the sleek panty-fabric tight against the underside of his erection and the equally sleek feeling of his Mother’s nylon-clad thigh as his bare inner thighs and panty-covered crotch rubbed against her with every spank. Even though his bottom cheeks burned from the impact of her hand, the mixture of pleasure his penis was receiving from such a sissyish place and his utter humiliation at being so punished for his masturbation habit – a habit which had become so perverse and uncontrolled that he had stolen his own Mother’s panties to jack off into – in full view of his friend Emily. He wished he could have kept walking with Emily, going to the park or walking to the strip mall, something normal that teenagers did, but now, as he was panty-spanked by his Mother for his shameful habit, there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than what he was getting in that instant.
“Are you going to ejaculate for Mommy?” she asked him more quietly. “Are you going to shoot cummy-cums in front of your girlfriend? Are you going to flood your Mommy’s pink panties with loser goo? Show your girlfriend what a pathetic little pervert you are. Do it, I dare you.” Ashley felt tears brimming in his eyes as he clung to his Mother. “Or are you holding out for your Mommy’s hand?” she asked, not bothering to hide the disdain she felt for him from her voice.
She glanced up, seeing Emily standing out on the sidewalk, staring at the tableaux. “You want to take a picture?” Mrs. Young demanded irritably.
Emily shook her head and mumbled, “No…” She gave Ashley one more sad look – by now his face was pressed against his Mother’s shoulder, his shoulders shook with silent sobs, and his bottom cheeks, exposed by the wedgie, were burning pink – and she continued walking home. Though she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to look back, for fear that Mrs. Young would see her looking.
Once the brown-haired mousy girl had walked out of sight, Mrs. Young shoved Ashley into the open doorway into the house. “Get indoors, you little exhibitionist. Did it give you a thrill to be seen by your dorky little girlfriend in your punishment panties? I’m sure she loved it when you were humping your Mother’s leg like a horny dog.” His Mother’s words cut him to the core, but his penis only throbbed insistently within his pink punishment panties. He didn’t bother to pull the wedgie out from between his buttocks. The feeling was embarrassingly erotic.
“Mommy, please,” he moaned, half out of humiliation and half out of perverse lust. “Please…”
“Please what?” his Mother asked with mock ignorance. “What could you possibly be begging your Mommy for?”
“You know,” he whined. It took all of his willpower to keep from rubbing his penis through the panties, but he knew that if he touched himself, his punishment would be worse. There would be more spanking, but no…release.
“Ask Mommy nicely and maybe Mommy will give it to you,” she said sweetly. She was clearly enjoying his embarrassment, lapping up every last bit of his shame. She watched as he wretchedly stood there throbbing in a pair of her panties pulled up past his waist, his erect little penis painfully obvious. It’s small shape was clearly outlined through the satin, pointing directly upward and held snug against his pelvis. A tiny damp spot had soaked through the panties, indicating his urethral opening. He had been dangerously close to prematurely ejaculating all over her thigh during his spanking out on the porch.
“P-please,” Ashley sobbed, “pl…please, M-Mom-mommy…please m…please masturbate me.” He could barely bring himself to say the word in the same sentence with the word “mommy.” He felt shame washing over him as he stood waiting for her reply. Little panty-wearing pervert begging his own Mother for a handjob.
“If that’s what little Ashley-panties needs,” Mrs. Young said teasingly. She sat down on the couch and patted her lap, waiting for him with perfect posture. The invitation reminded Ashley of when he was young and would seek to sit on his Mother’s lap. Only now, he was a teenager in high school, far too old for this, and the circumstances were utterly perverse. It was only made worse by the fact that, though he was nearly a graduate, he was still petite enough that he could sit in her lap without discomfort to her. Tears slid down his cheeks, only adding to his shame, but he couldn’t stop the floodgates any more than he could will his overstimulated, oversensitive penis to wilt back to flaccidity.
“Maybe if someone weren’t always playing with himself and getting into his Mommy’s underthings, maybe someone wouldn’t have to ask Mommy to masturbate him?” She gently held his penis through the panties, holding him in place just under the crown of his cock with her forefinger and thumb. “This must be so embarrassing for you. What kind of a boy gets masturbated by his own Mother?” Slowly she began to pump his penis up and down. He stifled a miserable moan, biting his lip, tears clouding his sight but almost imperceptibly moving his hips back and forth. “And in such a pink pair of panties, too? Pulled up all the way up his bottom, such a little pansy boy.” Her pace quickened to an andante beat, still masturbating her son slowly but steadily. He began to moan softly, beginning to surrender to the familiar pleasure that he was so used to giving to himself. But it was so different at the same time. Being held in a woman’s hand should have been absolutely thrilling to the virgin teen – and it was – but that thrill was tainted by the fact that he was being manually stimulated in his own Mother’s hand. The hand that once long ago had changed his diapers now urged him closer to erotic fulfillment. The hand that tucked him into bed now initiated his penis into sexual maturity. And did so through the whisper-thin pink satin of a pair of panties. Panties he had stolen from his Mother’s underwear drawer. Stolen for the express purpose of masturbation.
Ashley wished he had never let his perverted imagination urge him to steal the panties. He wished he had just let himself be satisfied with pumping himself off in his own hand in the privacy of the bathroom, the shower, or under the sheets of his bed at night. But after a day at the mall with Emily had given him the opportunity to stare at the lingerie store, seeing all the different styles of lingerie on mannequins and being modeled by sculpted women in floor-to-ceiling length posters, Ashley wanted to know what a pair of panties would feel like against his penis. Since he had no sisters, it was too risky to steal something from the lingerie store (he couldn’t imagine the mortification he would feel if he’d been caught), and the thought of getting into Emily’s laundry when he was at her house felt like a betrayal of his friend, the answer was clear: he could sneak into his Mother’s bedroom and filch a suitable pair.
But he was unprepared for the wide variety his Mother owned. He expected to find a lot of plain white cotton granny panties and maybe some flesh toned control tops, but there were only one or two of each of those. The rest were a vibrant, colorful variety of lace and satin and low-cuts and high-thighs and thongs and blacks and reds and purple stripes and neon greens and tiger stripes and naughty slogans… His Mother had hidden her secret side well from him. Ashley had never suspected that his own severe, staid, businesslike Mother would have ever given these exciting panties a second glance at the store, much less own them. He nearly creamed himself just from the heart-stopping discovery. With trembling fingers, he carefully picked through the delectable scanties, fearful that if he caused any disarray his presence would be detected later. Though many of the panties called out to him in teasing, seductive, mischievous voices, he settled on a pair of pink satin panties in a traditional yet sexy cut. They seemed to him to be the absolute essence of femininity and sexuality, and they felt delicious between his fingers as he gently pulled them free from the menagerie of mixed underwear. Unable to resist their siren call, he had foolishly sat down on his Mother’s bed and pulled down his shorts and underwear, unable to wait a second longer for the panties’ enrapturous embrace. The poor boy had only begun to fondle his erection through the pink satin when his Mother walked in on the scene, home unexpectedly early from work. There was no hiding what he was doing. It was as plain as his erection poking into a pair of pink satin panties.
“Did you enjoy having your bottom bared to your girlfriend?” she asked him, still pumping him in perfect time. “It must have been so embarrassing for you. Do you think she’ll tell all the girls at school about what she saw? Now she knows you wear your Mother’s panties, doesn’t she? She looked so disappointed in you when she walked away.” Ashley gritted his teeth as misery and arousal mingled in a sick thrill that manifested with a sudden throb of intense pleasure shooting through his body. He arched his back and moved his hips with more vigor.
“Panty-panty Ashley, panty-panty Ashley,” she sing-songed in time with her stroking. Look at you, thrusting your hips as if you were having sex with a girl,” she said. “But you’re not having sex, are you? You’re sitting in your Mommy’s lap while she masturbates your little penis. Because only real men get to have sex, don’t they?”
“Y-yes, Mommy,” he groaned. ‘Mommy’ increased her speed to an allegretto. She still used no more than her forefinger and thumb to knead and pump his stiff penis, but she didn’t need to. He was so small for his age.
“Real men don’t need to masturbate,” she said. “Because real men, manly men, keep themselves pure for a woman’s touch. They don’t play with themselves like naughty little boys who misbehave. And real men laugh at boys who wear panties, don’t they?”
“…yes, Mommy,” he admitted, unable to stop the flood of mental images to his imagination, of the guys in his P.E. class laughing at him standing in the shower wearing nothing but his Mother’s pink satin panties, wedged up tight between his buttocks.
“And you can just guess what the girls would do,” she added, seeing his panicked expression. “I know you feel shy around the other boys because they’re bigger than you, but let me tell you what I remember from high school: girls can be so, so much more cruel than any boy. And you do like girls, don’t you?”
“Ohh, I do, Mommy, I do like girls, so much,” Ashley gooned. Brittney came to mind, sitting next to him in Algebra class, her long tan legs folded under her desk; the girls in his P.E. class, wearing their snug t-shirts and tiny shorts, playing volleyball in their skintight bike shorts, their perfect bottoms jiggling with each impact of their tennis shoes squeaking on the hardwood floors.
“But girls don’t like boys in panties, Ashley,” Mommy taunted. “They’ll think you like boys. They’ll call you a sissy, and a faggot, and they’ll make fun of you, and you’ll never, ever get to have sex. You’ll be prancing around in your pink panties forever, Mommy’s little virgin sissy-boy…” Ashley’s breathing was quick, and though his whines were pathetic, his Mother could tell from the feel of his spasming penis and the urgency of his whines that her words of shame were causing him to near orgasm. She allowed herself a small, private smile and twisted the knife.
“And what will panty-panty-Ashley do then? Will you be a masturbator for the rest of your life? Would you…oh, but it would be *so* wrong, you should *never* think of doing that…” Her tone turned serious and suggestive, even sultry. She spoke in a low, husky voice pregnant with naughtiness. Ashley was bucking his hips back and forth now, thrusting his little erection between his Mother’s fingers as if he were trying to fuck them.
“Ohhh…ohhh,” Ashley moaned, deep in the throes of masturbatory bliss. He seemed barely capable of conscious reason at this point. Mrs. Young let go of his penis and put her hands on his shoulders, repositioning him in her lap. He offered no resistance, allowing her to move him as she wished. Soon she had him straddling her dark nylon-covered thigh, riding her leg as he leaned forward toward her. She reached back behind him and once again took firm hold of the back of his panties, pulling them even tighter between his bottom cheeks. The sleek fabric pulled taut over his penis and scrotum, increasing the sexual sensations he felt overwhelming him. His face was inches from his Mother’s face, and he looked into her malicious eyes with a hangdog expression. With his eyes, she thought, he seemed to be begging her not to finish her thought, and yet at the same time, pleading with her not to leave him hanging.
“Will panty-panty-Ashley come to Mommy and say in his little sissy voice, ‘Oh, Mommy, won’t you please, please, please…’” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial near-whisper, and pursed her winedark red lips. “‘Mommy, mommy, please have sex with me!’”
Ashley felt his face going pale. The sexual tension that had been steadily building up throughout this supremely humiliating erotic punishment reached its apex, exploding in his mind. In that split second, Ashley saw himself not being punished for stealing his Mother’s panties to masturbate into them, but instead as a lingerie-clad sissy laying atop his own dominant Mother, about to have sexual intercourse together. An indescribable wave of shame washed over him and he felt light-headed and disgusted with himself and more aroused than he could ever remember having felt before in his life.
Mrs. Young began to pull on his panties, tugging his wedgie up again and again, keeping time. “I hope that’s not what you’re fantasizing about, panty-panty-Ashley. That would be sooo shameful and wrong! You should be ashamed of yourself! Wanting to have sex with your own Mother? Wanting to have sex with your own Mother?” She began to repeat the phrase as he moved his body in time with her urging tugs, humping and grinding against his Mother’s nyloned thigh. “You want to have sex with your own Mother? You want to have sex with your own Mother? Do you want to have sex with your own Mother? Do you want to have sex with your own Mother?”
Despite himself, Ashley’s last defenses were battered down and tumbled. He openly and brazenly was humping his Mother’s thigh, luxuriating in the sensual overload of satin and nylon and womanly flesh rubbing the underside of his helplessly hard penis. The wedgie was stimulating his youthful prostate, seeming to make the sensations caused by his leg-humping even more intense.
“Do you want to have sex with your own Mother?”
“Do you want to have sex with your own Mother?”
“Do you want to have sex with your own Mother?”
“YES, MOMMY!” Ashley cried out. “Please have sex with me, Mommy!”
The sound of Ashley’s humping went from that of sleek, shimmery fabrics rubbing together to a wet schlicking and slurping sound as he flooded his pink satin panties with copious spurt after spurt of semen. It left long slick bands of wetness on his Mother’s pantyhose, and turned the entire crotch of his panties dark. Mrs. Young pulled Ashley toward her by his panty-wedgie. Her lips were inches from his, and he felt the warmth of her breath on his face.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she said, looking him right in the eyes. She didn’t look away. Her expression wasn’t angry or seductive. She simply looked at him as if he were contemptible. She slapped him across the face.
Ashley slid down his mother’s leg until his butt hit the floor. He could feel his penis still spasming in the stained panties, ejaculating out his final residual dribbles before softening and going to sleep. He looked up at his mother in confusion, and then looked down at himself in his Mother’s panties as the reality of the situation flooded back into his head.
“Take my panties off and wash that filth out of them,” Mrs. Young said. “And if I ever catch you getting into my panty drawer again, you can expect this punishment to continue indefinitely. And I won’t hold back. I will pull out all the stops. I will say and do things you cannot even imagine your Mother saying and doing. And your social life such as you know it will be ruined forever. Panty-spankings and being jerked off once a day by Mommy Dearest will be nothing compared to the punishments I will devise for you. Do you understand?” She stood up imperiously over him. The fact that his cum still stained her leg didn’t diminish her presence in the least. It was only a visible reminder of his shameful admission and proof of his mortifying deed. “I know what you secretly fantasize about now. I know the depths of your depravity. Well, be careful what you wish for.”
Ashley couldn’t bring himself to meet his Mother’s gaze. Instead, he mutely stood up and walked down the stairs toward the laundry room. His panties felt gooey in front, and now that they were wet, the coolness of the air was colder against his penis. He felt dirty and pathetic. His masturbatory reverie had left him in cold, hard reality, and he knew that tomorrow, he’d have to face Emily. She knew so much about him, but his display on the front porch could leave no question about what a perverted, masturbating little Momma’s boy he really was. He wished Emily didn’t know him so well, and wondered if she would want to be seen with him after today.
He peeled down the satin panties, tugging them free from between his buttocks and watching the string of semen that hung from the tip of his penis to the inside of the panty-crotch stretch and then drip to the floor. He held up the panties in front of himself and looked at the stains he had left in them. His Mother had worn these panties, and now she had made him ejaculate all over her thigh in them.
Later, as he lay in bed that night, a single thought wormed its way into his conscious mind and refused to leave him. “I know what you secretly fantasize about now,” she had said to him. “Be careful what you wish for.”
“If I ever catch you getting into my panty drawer again…”
“I will say and do things you cannot even imagine your Mother saying and doing…”
Ashley moaned quietly in lust and despair as his hand snaked its way beneath the sheets, where his penis began to stiffen in anticipation.
For more like this, join the Onania Masturbator Forum, a supportive, affirming community of people living with chronic addiction to masturbation. The focus is on our lives as addicted masturbators, and the pleasures / conflicts / impacts related to our compelling habit.
- Click to View or Join Forum
Great wanking story.I didn’t last to the end.thanks!
excellent story, I masturbated and came with Ashley