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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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type of literature, or you are under age,
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Minding Mike
by Paddy Toute (paddy22@aol.com)
***
A helpful neighbor lady is there when a young
recuperating teenage boy really needed her. (F/m-teen,
mast, voy, invalid)
***
"Could you stay for an hour or so and watch over Mike
while I go and do my shopping?"
The question came from my best friend, June. I was round
at her house for a coffee.
Mike, her 16 year-old son, was recovering from a nasty
accident at work. Some acid had been knocked over on to
his bench and had spilled, resulting in nasty burns to
his hands and lower legs. He had come out of hospital
that morning and was in bed getting some sleep.
"Sure, why not," I said. I'd known June since childhood,
and there's little we wouldn't do for each other.
"The nurses at the hospital said he'd be quite sleepy
most of the day, so he shouldn't give you any problems.
He shouldn't get hungry or thirsty, and if he needs to
pee, there's a bottle under the bed."
June left, and I switched on the kettle to make another
coffee. I went in to Mike's bedroom to check on him.
Sure enough, he was asleep. I stood there for a moment,
watching, thinking how much he had changed in the last
couple of years. He had always been a slender child, and
remained so as a teenager, his pale skin contrasting
sharply with his dark hair, eyebrows and long lashes.
I went back into the kitchen, made my tea and switched
on the television. I was surfing various channels in a
vain attempt to find something worth watching when I
heard Mike's voice from the bedroom.
"Mom? MOM? Are you there?"
Damn, I thought. I must have woken him when I checked on
him. I went through to the bedroom. He was sitting up in
bed, and was, not surprisingly, a little startled to see
me appear instead of his mother.
"Oh, it's you, Mrs. Johnson. Is mum around?"
I told him why I was there, and he wilted somewhat,
apparently a little uncomfortable. After a couple of
seconds' internal struggle, he said "I need to, erm, you
know, go to the toilet. To wee." His cheeks had
reddened somewhat, and I felt sorry for him in his
embarrassment.
"Oh, is that all?" I said, and stooped down to produce
the bottle from under the bed. "There you go. I won't
stay and watch" I said, putting the bottle beside him on
the bed.
"Erm, thanks Mrs. Johnson," he said. "But there's
another problem." And with this he pulled his hands from
beneath the duvet. Despite his obvious discomfort, I had
to stifle a laugh, because his hands were both bandaged
up like something from a cartoon. The burns he'd
sustained must have been extensive, because from a
couple of inches above his wrists downwards, he was a
mass of white bandage. In fact, his spindly arms looked
more like a couple of cotton buds than anything else. I
did of course, now see his difficulty. There was no way
he could manouvre his penis to the hole in the bottle,
(an old-style milk bottle). I realised he would need a
little assistance. Mike's face was by now bright red,
and he was looking anywhere in the room except at me.
I decided to adopt a brisk, workmanlike tone to try to
defuse the situation. "Mike, it's okay. I'm a mother
too, remember? I'm sure it's nothing I haven't seen
before. Let's get this over with, shall we?" Without
further ado, I flipped back the duvet to reveal Mike's
reproductive equipment.
His penis lay nestled against his thigh, curled up like
some small creature hibernating for the winter. Not for
long, though. As I encircled it with my fingers and felt
its warmth, I felt it start to enlarge, and at such a
speed that I managed to get just the head into the neck
of the bottle, but no more. It was jammed in there as
tightly as any champagne cork. Not content with
expanding, it was also lengthening.
I let it go and watched, transfixed as the bottle began
its journey down Mike's leg. Down and down it went,
seemingly set on a collision course with his kneecap. It
didn't make it (it stopped about half way down), but the
show wasn't over yet. Now it began to rise off Mike's
leg, and within a few seconds was practically at right
angles to his supine body.
"Well, we do seem to have a problem, don't we?" I said.
Mike was clearly acutely embarrassed. He didn't know
where to look, but I knew he really needed to pee.
Taking a deep breath, I said, "Look, Mike. What I am
about to do is to remain strictly private between
ourselves. I am going to relieve your.. err.. problem
in the best and quickest way I know."
And with that, I encircled Mike's shaft with my fist.
Its warmth surprised me. It had been so long since I
actually touched my husband's penis with my hand. The
nearest I usually got to it was when he tried to stick
it in me on his return from the pub on Friday nights. It
was as hard as marble, yet strangely soft against my
skin, and I could feel it pulse in time to Mike's
fluttering heartbeat.
Looking Mike in the eye, I began to slowly raise and
lower my hand up and down his iron shaft. The bottle
wobbled on the end, but Mike's purple head was jammed in
there so tight, I realised it was going nowhere. I
slowly increased the tempo of my ministrations, and
noticed a subtle change in Mike.
He no longer looked embarrassed and terrified, but was
clearly enjoying this impromptu hand job. His eyes were
closed, his head slightly over to one side, and a
beatific smile played across his features. There was a
slight flush in his cheeks, but I knew this was a sign
of impending climax rather than anything else.
His breathing quickened noticably, and I knew his end
was near. I felt his shaft expand under my clenched,
pumping fist, and for a bizarre moment found myself
wondering what would happen if his penis head tried to
expand further. Would it break itself open, leaving him
to bleed to death? Or would it shatter the bottle?
Suddenly, I felt his penis jerk uncontrollably within my
grasp, and Mike let out a groan. I watched, transfixed
as his cock-hole, magnified by the bottle, winked, and
shot out the first spurt of his seed. It splashed
against the bottom of the bottle and began to run down
the sides. Before it reached the bottom, it had been
joined by three more splashes, and within seconds there
was a pool of sperm at the neck of the bottle, around
his penis head.
It wasn't many moments before Mike's stiff young penis
began to deflate, and I was able to remove the bottle
without spilling most of his seed. Fetching a cloth, I
cleaned him up, hoping his mother wouldn't notice what
had been going on when she bathed him later!
Soon, Mike was ready to pee, and so the bottle's
contents were added to. Mike, now relieved in more ways
than one, was showing signs of embarrassment again. It
must have been difficult for him. After all, it's not
every day your mom's best friend comes into your bedroom
and jacks you off into a milk bottle...
Back in the kitchen, I was sitting with my coat on
awaiting June's return, drinking a remorseful cup of
coffee, and trying to console myself with the thought
that I had acted for the best back there, when she
arrived. I hastily set my cup down, and made for the
door.
"Hey, what's the rush?" asked June.
"Something came up. Gotta go," I said.
END
Transferred from brain to screen 28/29 April 1997
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 67