Daydreaming, I snatched my stiff cock from my mother's hand and held it in front of her surprised face as the spunk began to flow.

"Take that, Mom!" I moaned out loud as the first visceral stream of juice blasted out from my cock and landed in a long icky strand just above her right eye, across the bridge of her nose and over her parted lips before dripping off the end of her chin. More followed with Mom squeaking as I coated her blushing cheeks with more hot fresh jizz until she was covered with frothy gloop.

"Henry Peterson!" she gasped as she knelt there with her eyes firmly shut, "What are you doing?!"

I was running out of stuff so I rubbed the head of my thing all over her spunk-soaked face, making it shine and glisten disgustingly in the low light of my bedroom. Sexually intoxicated, I bounced my knob end on her cum-splattered forehead, enjoying the way she stuck out her tongue to chase the rivers of sperm running down over her cheeks and chin.

"You bad, bad boy," Mom scolded me as she reached up and massaged my spend into her skin before she enthusiastically sucked her fingers clean, "What are we going to do next, sweetie?" she asked as she played with her awesome tits.

Even after the last spunk salvo, I could feel myself already getting ready for another round with Mom. "What do you wanna do, you cum slut?" I asked her. In our ever-expanding shared vocabulary, "slut" was one of those words that flicked the switch for my mother. Mom was right. It's not what you say but the way you say it. Shakespeare 101, as she put it.

"Oh, I don't know, dear," she stretched erotically as she settled in beside me on my bed, cleaning my jizz off her face with a wet wipe, "It's been such a long time since any man came knocking at my door," she sighed. Leaning over, she put her lips to my left ear, "Do you want me to give you my number?" she breathed as she shrugged her shoulders and slipped off her yellow bra to leave her nearly naked with only a matching pair of panties to cover her trimmed modesty.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. All my senses were working overtime as I let her push me back so that she could kiss her way downstairs to my growing banana. Hell yeah. Time to pound some serious mommy pussy like the good son I was.

"Are you with us, Mr. Peterson?"

Fuck that pussy, dude. Fuck it real good. Mommy pussies are the best pussies in the whole wide world and that is a fact. Just get between those firm thighs of hers and shove that big dick right the way up her slot. This was the absolute best way to relieve those big aching balls of yours.

"Mister Peterson."

"What?" I blinked as real life gatecrashed my imagined party which faded frustratingly away just as I was about to mount my mom.

Miss Buford, late fifties, grey hair in a bun, with sensible clothes, was seated on the edge of her desk in front of the class, smiling at me. "Wherever you are, I'm sure you won't find the answer to my question there. Perhaps you should concentrate on the here and now if you please."

Mom had disappeared into the ether, as she so often did these past few days, as I sat up in my chair and picked up my Maths book to hide behind. "Uh, yeah, sorry," I mumbled as I slid back down so that only the top half of my red face was visible. Shape up, Peterson. Don't give everyone the impression you're the loser they probably already think you are. I glanced up at the clock on the wall; half an hour till the end of class and an hour till my appointment at the surgery with Doctor Meadows and her sexy spectacles.

"Good," said the teacher as she looked around at the other students, "Let's continue, shall we, as Mr. Peterson keeps digging that hole he wants to hide in."

Funny. The woman had no idea how right she was. But as I shriveled up like a salted slug behind my book, I didn't notice the girl sitting two rows in front of me glance over her shoulder to stare at my pathetic attempts to disappear with an amused expression on her gorgeous face.

Mom was right. Sometimes it's not who you are or what you look like that matters. It's about something much more than that. Something called the whims and attractions of fate.

***

Those two spunk-tastic weeks passed by in the blink of an eye despite my best efforts to make them last forever. Masturbating with Mom had really been something else. Each time with her had given me enough memories to sustain my immature libido for months, if not years, to come. It sucked major donkey dick that all good things really do come to an end.

That end being my follow-up appointment with the doc. "So, Henry," smiled Doctor Meadows as she took the sheet of paper Mom handed to her, "How's life?"

I gave a shrug. "Alright. Okay."

Mom was with me as she had come straight from work despite me telling her that morning as she jacked me off for the last time that I was more than capable of seeing the doctor on my own.

We were both sat together in front of her desk watching as she read the numbers Mom had written down after each of our masturbating sessions. Now and again, her eyebrows would rise in apparent surprise as she considered our results. "Well, Henry," she began as she put the sheet down in front of her, "You are most definitely an impressive young man, it has to be said. No wonder your testicles ached all the time. The amount of sperm you are producing is definitely at the high end of the scale. Did you have any problems collecting your samples?"

I quickly shook my head. "No, Ma 'am. No problems at all. Nope. Absolutely not."

Mom was sat bolt upright with her handbag in her lap. "Everything went smoothly, Doctor," she nodded in agreement as she put on her best poker face, "I made quite sure Henry did what he had to do."

Doctor Meadows looked at the results again. "So over the two week period, his minimum daily output was three times and his maximum was," She traced a finger across the dates, "Six times?"

Oh, that day. Now that had been a day to remember. Mom shuffled in her chair as I sat there blushing like an idiot. Yeah, six times. Six hand jobs in one day. For whatever reason, I had been supercharged that day and would have fucked a rubber duck just to get off. Besides an early morning quickie and a pre-dinner splash and dash, four more times  Mom had to sort me out from early evening to nearly midnight.

"Again?" she had spluttered in amazement as I wandered downstairs to find her sat in her favorite armchair reading a book under the circular light from a table lamp. Don't blame me. What's a horny son of a bitch supposed to do when nature comes calling?

So, yeah, I was a regular stud muffin that day. "Uh, I guess when you've got to go you've just got to go," I replied lamely as she looked at me a little bemused.

Mom sat forward and got straight to the point as she always did. One thing about my mom was that there was no screwing around. "Did the blood and urine tests find anything wrong with him, Doctor?" she asked with a frown on her face.

Doctor Meadows removed her spectacles and looked between us. "Actually, Mrs. Peterson, they have. The good news is it's nothing serious so you don't have to worry yourself about it, but it is a condition I've only come across very rarely in all my years as a practitioner. Henry has something that requires a very specific and unusual kind of treatment."

Mom looked blankly at Doctor Meadows. "What sort of treatment?"

"Sex," replied the doctor matter-of-factly, "And lots of it."

Uh oh. 

***

Once again, Mom was sat gripping the steering wheel as the lights changed to red and we slowed to a stop as the late afternoon sunshine flared through the windscreen. Like last time, the journey back home from the Surgery had been mostly in silence as I sat there in the passenger seat wondering if life was screwing me around deliberately.

"That's the most RIDICULOUS thing I've ever heard," she exclaimed suddenly, making me jump, "This has to be some sort of joke!"

Yeah. As far as possible things wrong with me, this one was a complete doozy. Not so much the problem, but what I had to do to fix it. Fix, as in manage, as there was no real cure for what I had, according to the doctor. Honest to God, I thought Mom was going to blow a gasket when the Doc explained the reasons for her diagnosis based on the results of my tests,

Even my ball sack was surprised.

The lights changed and we headed for home as I sat there wondering what the heck was going to happen next. Now that those two weeks were over, being masturbated by Mom was, I presumed, a thing of the past which was a major bummer. And now I had this to deal with. It never rains but it pours and, boy, it sure as fuck was pissing down on my parade right now.

Mom pulled into the drive, watching as I undid my seatbelt, and reached to open the car door. "How can you do something like that when you don't even have a girlfriend?" she said out loud as she fiddled with her own belt and exited the car with a little squeak of annoyance at my lack of a sexual partner.  Wait a second. Hold the God damned phone. I mean, hey, it's not my fault I'm still a virgin for Chrissakes. It's not like I planned my life this way. She slammed the car door shut and marched into the house as I stood there sighing to myself before I followed her inside. What a fucking day this had turned out to be.

Today was definitely going into my Dear Diary hall of fame.

***

"Dear diary," I scribbled.

It was late. The evening had slipped away with Mom and me dancing around each other with an air of awkward embarrassment as we tried to maintain some semblance of normality in a situation that was anything but normal. Eventually, I retired to my bedroom, went over to my big pile of sci-fi mags and took out my little black book which I hid there. The book where I kept all my secrets, thoughts, and dreams. The kind of stuff you never told anyone about ever - especially your mom. Sometimes in order to see things more clearly you just need to write them down.

"Holy crapola. Today has been one crazy ass day with bells on..."

Seeing every last detail of my appointment with Doctor Meadows down in simple black and white was strangely therapeutic. Holy baked potatoes. Talk about being knocked for six at the treatment she suggested. Putting the pen down, I stared out of my bedroom window watching as the skies darkened and all the lights in the neighborhood came on one by one. Feeling slightly depressed, I shook my head, got up from my desk and went to get ready for bed with the doctor's words echoing in my head.

Sex. And lots of it. If it were only that simple, because having sex with anyone at all seemed a million miles away right now.

***

Funnily enough, as it turned out, the solution to that problem wasn't a million miles away at all but somewhere much closer to home.

Next day, I was back in the old routine. A one-man band masturbating machine pumping out a steady stream of man goo at least three times a day with the help of the familiar faces in my well-thumbed porn stash. Anything to help scratch my itch and ease my ache down below. Only now, everything seemed so much less exciting than before. The thrill had gone and even "Awesome Angie and her Agile Asshole!" seemed boring.

Mom was sort of ignoring me. Conversations were yes-and-no affairs as we both tried to find our own ways to deal with everything. Every time I got up to go upstairs, I could feel her eyes following me as she sat there reading her books or watching tv. In a way, it made me feel kind of bad knowing she knew what I was going to do. But needs must. Puberty and ball ache was a thing that needed satisfying and right now there was only one way to do that.

That is, until three days later...

It had gone six in the evening. Back home from work with dinner done, Mom was sitting watching a bit of tv in the living room to help her unwind from the stresses of the day. Within minutes of sitting down opposite her, I could feel the familiar itch begin and I knew I was due another gotta-blow-a-load session. Glancing at Mom, I sighed and got to my feet to head for the stairs where my life was about to take another unexpected turn.

The bedroom door suddenly burst open as I stood there about to drop my jeans with a box of tissues and one of my favorite porn mags on the bed next to me. Startled, I spun round to see Mom standing there with a determined look on her face.

"WAIT!" she said forcefully. She was still dressed in her work clothes and looked deceptively attractive in an "If she wasn't my mom" hot kind of way. A floret long-sleeved cream blouse, dark black pressed knee-length skirt, and with what I imagined were matching stockings as Mom wasn't a fan of tights of any kind.

I stood there wondering what was up. It was pretty unusual for Mom to invade what she always considered was my private space. Was I in trouble? Mom came to stand in front of me looking like she had a gazillion thoughts going through her head. "Mom?" I said hesitantly. Whatever was on her mind, she'd better make it quick as I really needed to get down to the business at hand ASAP.

Mom screwed up her flushed face as if she was trying to stop herself from saying what she was about to say. "Are they," she blurted out, "Those things of yours. Are they aching again?"

"They're always aching, Mom," I sighed. Did we have to go through this again? "I won't be long. I just need to do what I have to do, that's all. It's no big deal now you know all about it."

My mother didn't say anything but stared at me intensely for a long time. A very long time. As if she was making a decision, she raised her hands to her face, balled them into small fists then, with a little squeak of submission, she flung her arms out wide and took another step towards me. It was like she had stepped over some sort of emotional and moral line in the sand and only later would I realize how much effort and mental strength it had taken for her to do that.

"ALRIGHT!" she said with a slightly resigned gasp of exasperation, "Alright for goodness sakes!"

I blinked and stared at her. Alright, what?

Mom?" I said, beginning to feel a bit worried, "Is everything okay?"

She shook her blonde head. "Of course everything isn't okay," she replied as she took a deep breath, "If everything was okay, I wouldn't be about to do what I'm about to do."

Do? Do what?

***

No way. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

"What are you talking about?" I said, stunned as I stared at my mother who was standing in front of me looking embarrassed and determined at the same time. There was a buzzing in my head like my brain was trying to make some sort of sense of what she had just told me.

Mom had turned bright red and stood with her hands down by her sides. "I said," she repeated, "We're going to have sex. Right now."

We are? I blinked at her. "No, we're not," I said with a sort of disbelieving grunt, "Don't be silly, Mom." Was she alright? What the hell was she talking about? Sex? The two of us? Together? Naked? On a bed? Was she serious? Mom was strictly Bible Belt in her outlook and knew the Good Book inside out. There was more chance of me banging Mary Poppins than my own mother. What was she doing?

"Listen to me, Henry Peterson," she said firmly, putting both hands on her shapely hips, "After what happened the other day at the Surgery and with what Doctor Meadows had to say, well, after much thought, I can't think of any other way to fix your problem."

Uh. Okay. This was totally bonkers. But us having sex would change everything. Surely she realized that. I just wanted Mom to be Mom. The last thing I wanted her to think was that she had some sort of obligation to help me out.

 "It's okay, Mom," I said, trying to act like an adult, "You don't have to do that. Seriously, I can just go back to what I've always been doing. No problem. I know you helped me out before but doing this is something else. For one thing, you're my mom, Mom. And secondly, it's totally against the law. I mean, if anyone ever found out."

She stared at me for a second then shook her head. "Well, I'm certainly not going to tell anyone about it. No, I've made my mind up. Close the curtains, Henry," she ordered, "Then we can make a start," Reaching up, she started to undo the buttons on the front of her...