Sub M.O.M.S (Ingrid)
by DiscipleN
*For extra context, please read my first “Sub M.O.M.S.” story.
if early teen shenanigans ain’t your thing, ignore instead of down voting
Chapter 1
“My name is Ingrid Muldurhoek, and my son has been in charge of me for ten years.” I smiled at the group. No matter how embarrassed or ashamed or worried at these meetings, I could manage a smile. I suspect, because of my smile and that I manage a small library, I was chosen to organize them. ‘SMOMS’ have no leaders. There is only one person charge of a member, unless they have more than one son.
Until ten years ago, the idea of sons sexually dominating their mothers, would have elicited my librarian, postive neutral smile, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, that subject isn’t available from public libraries. My career as a librarian had brought me within a year or two of becoming my branch’s head librarian. I was achieving all of my humble desires, professionally and for my family. My husband loved his work. My son was about to begin high school. Andrew was a charmer but not in a sexual way, to me.
I loved sex with my husband, Garrick. He worked from home two days a week, designing the look and feel of his company’s many web pages. We often dived upon our bed together, when I suggested a break from work.
One day, Andrew returned from school to find us mating. He was more embarrassed for us than aroused. After my husband came in me, I masturbated myself to an orgasm. As my body trembled from electric pleasures I happened to look at the door and found our son staring at us. “Oh my!” I pulled a blanket over me.
Garrick looked, noticed Andrew and did a good job of not frightening him. “Ho there, Son.” He waved the boy off. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” My husband kissed me. “That was fun, and weird. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, Sweetheart.” He dressed and met with Andrew in the kitchen.
That night, he told me that he and Andrew had a nice chat about privacy and happy people having sex. “He said he was sorry. He wants to apologize to you tomorrow.” Garrick assured. Normally, we would have made love again, but the weird part of our afternoon caught up with us. We slept soundly though.
“Mommy, I’m sorry.” Andrew woke me up by brushing my hair with his fingers. His flannel PJs sported Lord of the Rings characters with swords and staffs.
“Oh, Hon, let me sleep a little more.” I mumbled. “Go back to bed.”
“No, Mommy.” He lifted the covers on my side of our king bed and crawled in next to me. “I’ll sleep here. I couldn’t sleep much.”
“Aw.” I put my arm around his shoulders. He nuzzled his face against my breasts.” We slept for another hour. When Garrick woke, he shook my arm, “Honey, remember to get a couple front tires for the Toyota, Dunlops, no extra warrantee.
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmured. He fixed his own breakfast on the days he went to work. Leaving before rush-hour kept him sane and randy, he once told me. The bed had jostled at his getting up. I felt a slight stab against my thigh. Andrew was hard with morning wood. I chuckled and sank back into slumber.
Young hands rolled me on my back. They pulled their body on top of me. Waking a third time that morning, I realized Andrew was humping his hard-on, up and down my belly. “Andrew, what are you doing?” I almost shouted, “STOP!” but I thought it best to let him answer.
“Morning, Mommy. I’m using you.” His pevis bobbled gleefully but not strenuously across my torso.
“What?” Had I heard him right? “Wait. Stop, Honey.” I pushed my hands against his young shoulders. “What do you mean, using me?”
“No, Mommy, it’s feeling good, like Dad said.” He struggled to keep sliding his flannel clad dick against my thick, silk negligee. “He said you wanted him to use you, while you still loved it.”
Use me? My husband had told our son that he USED me? I was so startled by Andrew’s answer, my muscles slacked. His erect penis prodded my tummy freely once more.
“Ooooh, I like it, Mommy!”
I needed to pay attention to the now, not the payback I would plan for Garrick. “Honey, Mommy has to get up.” I pulled the blanket away from his humping figure but failed to roll. I tried to. He resisted. Strong young man, he was. Andrew would take after his dad’s masculine frame, in later years. He kept atop of me, but he didn’t pin me.
“Just a little more.” He actually panted. His pace increased. I could have fought him. If I had, I might have won sporadic battles from that day forward. A strange embarrassment overcame me, more like disbelief. I was incredulous. How could such a thing happen, my son rubbing his hard dick on my body? I prevaricated just long enough while he humped.
Andrew’s body shuddered, and he exclaimed, “Waaaooow!!! He fell fully upon me, motionless.
I knew what had happened. My son had rubbed himself to an orgasm. “Um, are you okay?” Why the hell did I ask that? I should have thrown him out of my room!
“That was wonderful, Mommy. So much better than by myself.”
My son was certainly old enough to have discovered masturbation, but Andrew’s laundry hadn’t any stains that I noticed. Otherwise, he’d been an exemplary, imperfect child, until the day he crept under my covers and rubbed off an orgasm against my body. That day I discovered, he hadn’t and possibly couldn’t yet cum. I didn’t feel wetness from his pajama bottoms. I did roll him off my body. I touched the span of my silk clad belly he had ‘used’. It was mostly dry, maybe a little sweat.
I let him catch his breath. Again, I’m not sure why. As I fumed about what my husband had told him, I felt a strange warmth in my cheeks. That warmth sank down my neck, relaxed my chest and lower back, and reached my hips and parts therein. I wanted Garrick for a second reason, quite opposite the first, but that would have to wait until after I gave my husband the what-for.
“You were very naughty to your Mommy, Andrew.” I waved him off of my bed. “Go! Out of the room.” He turned and stuck his tongue out at me.
I gave him extra chores that morning: trash removal, dish wiping, and weeding the front and back yards. Otherwise the day was another work day. I sent the boy off to school with additional scoldings. He was too tired to stick out his tongue.
I usually took the bus to work. Our house was perfectly placed. I didn’t have to transfer, and Garrick could jet onto a freeway distant enough to limit its noise. Today, he took mass transit, 2 hours of it, while I drove to work, and after work, to the tire center.
We had an idillic life. Garrick had one too, until he returned that evening. Andrew played video games while I took my husband out back to the patio and addressed my anger with him. I didn’t mention how his son had ‘used’ me. “Garrick, you have one chance to explain yourself, before you sleep under the stars for a week. How on Nature’s green earth did our son learn, from you, that sex was called ‘using’ somebody?”
“Huh?” Garrick asked stunned. Every inch of his large frame curled inward as if his breast bone shrank. His eyes strained at me. “I never said-” He interrupted himself. “Oh.”
I would have booted my husband in the balls, except I was wearing house slippers.
He shook his head, “No- no. It’s a mistake. I never said that.”
“What did you say?”
His resulting grin looked so sheepish I wanted to shear his lips off. “What I told him was, masturbation is not a form of abuse.” You know how stupid people are always saying that. “I told him it was a good use- Of His Time!”
He wasn’t lying, but I wasn’t satisfied either. I tapped my slipper and gave him a stink eye.
The prompt worked. He continued, “Andrew then asked if I had had a good time with you. I told him the truth. I love you, and you love me, and we enjoy our time together.” He added quickly, “I told him to respect our privacy in the future.”
Okay, I admit, my heart forgave him. My mind needed more time. “You jerk.” I smiled. “Next time, I’ll talk to him.”
“What about a father bonding with his son?”
“Sure, over everything other than sex education. You have failed this topic.” I growled.
The night went smoother after clearing up our son’s misunderstanding. We enjoyed better than average make-up sex.
Garrick worked at home the next day. When Andrew returned from school, I met him at the door. “Come with me, Andrew.” We often called him Andy. His friends did, but I needed to speak to the full person. I led him into his bedroom and closed the door. He looked worried.
“Honey, I wanted talk about what you and your dad discussed a couple days ago.”
He brightened. “Sex!”
“Yes.” I sat in his small desk chair. He plopped, happily, on his bed. “We think you’ve got the wrong idea. Sex isn’t about using people.”
“It’s not?” His brightness faltered.
“No. You’ll make girls unhappy if you try to use them.”
“Oh.”
“Sex is about two people sharing a joyful act. It’s about mutual consent.” I hoped the last words weren’t too big for him.
His eyes cast around the room. “I think you’re lying, Mom.” They zeroed in on mine.
“I beg your pardon?” I didn’t like the sound of his voice.
He slipped off the bed and stood in front of me. “I used you yesterday, and you didn’t want me to, but you love me.”
I had never been confronted with such an attitude. My heart thumped as a prelude to panic. “Th-that was a mistake. You caught me off guard, Andrew. I-it won’t happen again.” Confidence bled out with my words.
His next sentence bled it dry. “Of course it will, Mommy.” He put a firm hand on my head and tugged it down. “See, it’s already happening.” He aimed my face at the bulge in his pants. It was growing.
“SON!” I blurted and knocked his hand off of my head. “That’s a terrible thing to do!” I jumped up and ran out of the room.
That night, behind our bedroom door, Garrick gave me an unbridled talking to. “Andy was in tears when he came to me.” Garrick related. “You told him getting an erection was terrible?”
“I’m sorry.” I quailed. “It’s as if he wants to misunderstand us.”
“No. You screwed up, worse than I did. There’s no misunderstanding. Maybe we should just let the school system handle it.”
“That won’t happen for three years.” I cursed America’s religious heritage.
“I’ll buy him a book or two.”
We searched online for a young person’s guide to sex. It was “Turning Into a Man. Tuning Out The Man.” We both snickered reading that. It offered beautiful drawings of several sizes and colors of penises and ball sacks, while its lessons strived to make all men ‘equal’. Primarily written for boys, it included discussions of girl parts, their many perspectives of their bodies, and how to respect and honor them.
We presented it to Andrew the day after it arrived in the mail, together.
“Here, Andy. We think you’re ready to learn about sex on your own, but if you have any questions. Mom and Dad are always here to help.”
The first question arrived on my bed, the next time his daddy left for work. I could sleep in – librarian hours.
“Mommy, wake up!” Andrew shook my pillow. “I think something’s wrong.”
“Hnngghh?” I uttered. My eyes opened and slowly focused. Standing before me was my son’s fully erect cock.
“It’s not like the pictures!”
“Honey…” I started. I shifted on the bed, away from him. “What pictures?” Instantly, a printout filled my vision. His hand gripped several pages, but the one in front showed all I needed to see. The dick was dark and veined, hairy, and about ten inches. Its tip was firmly ensconced in a vulgar looking pussy.
“Look, Mommy, look. I don’t have any hair, and this has blue lines standing out! Mine is smooth.” He pouted.
Too much information overloaded my vision and mental and emotional processes. I blurted, “Andrew, that’s porn! It’s not real! How did you get those pictures?”
“From online. The book had an address, but it was too long to type. I searched the book name. This is from the bonus pages. Don’t you know anything?” It took me half a second to realize, his search had brought up porn instead of the book’s companion website.
Verily, as I continued to process my son’s anxiety and media blitz, I saw two words printed at the top of the prick printout, “The Man.” Piss! I swore in my head. Wait, how the hell did he get past the adult restrictions on our computer? I placed them there myself, with all my librarian superpowers. Andrew was adept with computers but mildly. He was no hacker, not even script kiddie material. I doubt he knew the difference between a VPN and an ISP.
I railed at my son. “Clearly, I don’t know anything. Momma is even dumb enough to wake up for your nonsense.” I glanced at my son’s erection, dispassionately. “You’re fine, Andrew. Your penis is fine. I know you read that book. You know you’re only a little late getting pubic hair.” Thin bristles sprouted over his scrotum.
He quieted, and his hand pulled the papers to rest at his thigh. He looked at his penis, then me. “I’m sorry.” He did an odd thing. His hand reached out and stuffed the papers under my pillow. Releasing them, he grabbed my bedcovers and climbed in under them. “I’ll sleep more here.”
Huddling together, he fell asleep. I stayed awake. I wanted to get out of bed and see what had happened to the computer content filters. I decided it was best to let the boy sleep. His face twitched in his sleep, against my negligee covered breasts. Silly child.
I woke up, on my back. Andrew clung to my side, rubbing his morning wood slowly against my thigh. His hand roamed hesitantly across my belly. When he groped my breast, he woke me. His hand cupped my bulge farthest from him. He gave my nipple a quick finger flick. Both had turned rock hard and pressed visibly through my nighty. I pulled his hand off of me. “Stop that, Andrew. Get out of the bed, now.”
“No, Mommy. I need to use you.” Learning I was awake, his humping lump pressed harder. It rubbed quicker. “Mmmmm.”
“I won’t let you. Now stop it.” I pushed his shoulder to show I meant it.
“You have to let me, Mommy. That’s what the other book said.”
Other book? A dark dread stayed my fighting spirit. “Where did you get another book?”
“Online, a PDF.” It came up in the search. He sounded pleased with himself. His boy cock continued to abuse my silk clad thigh. This time, his penis was naked. “It was another book called, Tuning Into Manhood by Turning on the Mom.”
Not only had my son found dirty pictures on the net, he had downloaded a dirty book, probably a modern imitation of utterly sleazy and raunchy books from the seventies and eighties, the ones that had been mass produced by organized crime. “Andrew, I don’t have to do anything but get you away from me.” I pushed again but tried not to tumble him over the edge. I managed to separate his top half from my side. His knees were locked around my leg, letting his pelvis buck however he liked.
“That’s good, Mommy. It’s suppose to feel better when you fight. Unnghh!” He grunted, clearly feeling his oats ripen.
“I don’t want to fight you, Honey. I want you to obey me!” I wailed, exasperated!
“That’s not how it’s suppose to be. You have to obey me, or I’ll never become a man.” He began grunting from the pleasure building in his loins.
His ridiculous comebacks drained me. I was Sisyphus, rolling a boulder up hill, only to have it crash down every time. I was never this indecisive with Garrick. What was happening to me? My arms managed to keep my son’s upper body away. He clawed back ineffectually, but I didn’t have the wherewithal to struggle further. Let him finish. My mind compromised. I’d be more careful next time.
Like before, his humping sped up at the end. He grunted louder and huffed and puffed, rubbing his young prick against his mother’s silked thigh. A groan burst from him. “Oooohhhh, Mommmmyy!” I stopped resisting. His motion ratcheted down quickly until he simply lay against me, breathing hard. The lump pressing my thigh softened. “That was wonderful. You’re a good mommy.” He kissed the side of clothed breast closest to him.
I lay awake after he left me. The ceiling offered no answers to my dilemma. For the second time, my son had successfully masturbate against my nightgown. When I got up, I heard crinkling. I reached under my pillow and looked at the crumpled papers. For some reason I flattened them out, examining them unhappily. They weren’t all dick in pussy pics. One was the cover illustration for the book he downloaded, “Tuning Into Your Manhood by Turning on Your Mom.” It showed an older boy playing a grand piano, in his underwear. Across the lid, a middle aged woman, in bra and panties, stretched. She seemed to be touching herself. I felt an impulse to do the same.
From down the hall, “Mommy, I have to get ready for school! I’m hungry.” That was an order a mom did have to obey.
I had trouble gaining traction at work. My best assistant noticed. “You seem to be elsewhere today, Ingrid.
“Sorry, Claire. What do you need me for?”
“A night on the town would be a good start.” She smiled suggestively. Neither of us were lesbians or even bi, but we might joke around when no one was about.
“I’ve said it before, you’re lucky you don’t have kids.”
“Oh, growing pains.” She mimed jacking off.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him. We’ve been very careful about teaching him good information, but he keeps testing us.”
She raised her hands in surrender. “I don’t know or want to know the first thing about raising kids. I’m not even that much into sex.”
It was true, Claire liked books. She could joke around, but guys and girls didn’t do much for her. Once more, “lucky woman” crossed my thoughts.
“I will say this, Ingrid.” She said plain. “You let kids here get away with a lot.”
I disbelieved her, and she recognized my expression. “Seriously, the majority of missing books are from the children’s section. You spend more of the budget restocking them than any other section.”
“Well,” I rationalized, “There’s a lot of children who wouldn’t have books, if we didn’t look the other way every now and then.”
She smiled but said, “If you say so, but it only happens when Asshat works at the main branch.” Mr. Carl, “Asshat”, Vertus was our branch’s head librarian.
Thankfully, my boss was out for the afternoon. I excused myself and kept busy wherever Claire wasn’t, for the remainder of the day. There was no way I was too lenient around children, I continued to tell myself.
After work, I picked up Andrew from school. I pressed him to his homework. I gave him more chores after confirming he had finished. I even surprised him a couple times, to see if he was accessing porn on our computer.
“Mom, why are you bothering me so much?”
“You know why.” I intoned. I didn’t trouble him again until dinner was ready and Garrick and I were seated at the kitchen table. My husband and I had already exchanged our usual chit-chat. I kept the morning’s rude event to myself.
At one point, Andrew swallowed a slice of tri-tip after chewing it at least ten times and asked, “Why is the vagina such a challenge for sperm?”
The soft sounds of forks and knives and masticating halted. “That’s a good question, Son.” His father answered proudly. “Nature wants the strongest of sperm cells to meet an egg. Only one can be chosen, out of millions that enter.”
“Oh.” Andrew thought about it. “Like a hero movie!” He forked another slice of beef into his mouth.
On the days Garrick worked at the company, Andrew had to dry the dishes with a towel. We could afford a mid-range dishwashing machine, but I felt that regular manual labor was good for the soul. I liked washing dishes! My job was mostly management with occasional work work. We were the lucky town library with a budget for general labor. I could zone out while washing dishes.
“Hey, Mom?”
“What, Honey?”
“I read that when a boy shows dick to his mom, she has to show herself to him.”
“That’s the most ridiculous-” I stopped, refusing to be drawn into another stupid discussion. Why hadn’t he asked me about the vagina’s acidity? I was the resident expert. A frightful voice spoke in my head. “He had, but I’m not worth listening to.” It was my inner voice. A chill ran up my spine. My outer voice told Andrew, “Y-you run along and play a game with your father. I’ll finish up here.”
“Okay!” He dropped his towel on the floor and raced to the living room. “Hey, Dad, you want to try that new shooter?” I bent over and picked up the towel. Had he dropped it deliberately, knowing I wouldn’t complain? Did I need therapy?
I finished the dishes with fresh resolve. I went to the den and booted up our computer. It was pretty slick hardware, far more expensive than any at the library. Garrick’s job was demanding that way. He had a stack of external drives to store his work. I failed to log in. “Hey, Garrick, my password’s not working. I tried it three times!”
“Just a second!” He called from the living room. Seconds of them finishing a battle, passed before he cried, “And pause! Honey, I changed our passwords a couple days ago. It’s good practice.” My husband was meticulous about computer security. “Your new one is on a slip of paper between the third and fourth external drives from the top of the stack. You know the drill, memorize it and burn the paper.
I pulled the wrong one, first, from under the second drive. It read, “Dad: confabulisticJurispussy” I found my password next, “Mom: chaucSartreDiamoniker” A puzzle piece fell into place. Andrew must have logged into his dad’s account. Apparently, Dad, was still memorizing his. Not to be left out, I logged in as my husband. Image and HTML document icons exploded into the screen, all innocent. I pulled up the search box and typed “Tuning into Manhood”.
There was one result, a PDF. Instead of opening the file, I opened the folder containing it, one of the search options. The folder was named AJM. I navigated out of that folder to the one enclosing it, “Old Stuff”. AJM was the only item in that folder. Old Stuff was mixed in with hundreds of spreadsheets and word folders, some named “Old” blahblah. Not bad, Son. Not too bad.
I returned to the AJM file and its contents. Andrew had printed conservatively, that morning. The folder held nearly a hundred porno pictures. Most were labeled with “M/s”. Thankfully, he didn’t know how to use torrents. I’d hate to know he was watching videos of people pretending to be mothers and sons. Thinking of those sparked a warm glow inside of me. I logged out and signed into my own account. I pocketed the password slip. I searched for similar terms, but apparently Andrew hadn’t logged into my account, or he had and was driven out by my horde of cat videos. I changed my password, to one my husband would never guess.
I told Garrick what his son had done with his account. The next day, I was at work, when he read Andrew the riot act. Our son barely spoke to us for days. Neither of us punished him. Bringing his transgression to light was harsh enough, we thought.
Weeks passed, but eventually our parental lapses, and Andrew’s libo found fruit again. Father had left for work, and I was snoozing peacefully. I had jammed a chair against the doorknob. Thudding woke me. “Mom! Let me in.”
“I’ll be out soon. Honey.” I lay back down and closed my eyes. Thuds turned to pounding. “Open up, Mom.” I smiled and ignored them. The little ape persisted.
“Alright, already.” I heard myself say. Getting up, I yawned, grabbed my house coat and tied it around me. Head to toe, I was garbed in pink polyester fluff. “Stop hitting the door, and I’ll open it.”
He stopped. I pulled the chair free. He must have heard. The door opened with a rush. “You’re a bad Mommy!” He attacked me, pushing me back until my thighs hit the end of my bed. I managed to stay on my feet.
Andrew stood naked. His young prick stood hard and somehow more naked. His eyes burned. “Do you see it?”
“Andrew, what’s gotten into you?” I started. I changed my voice instantly. “Get out of here, until you’ve calmed down.”
“I’m sorry, Mommy, but you have to get on the bed.”
“Of course I won’t.” I struggled for balance.
“It’ll be easier for me.”
“Easier for what?”
“To see you.” He pushed me again. Against my will, my body went slack. I fell on my back. My legs splayed slightly. Andrew bent down and threw the flaps of my robe apart. He followed by pushing up the hem of my negligee, until my panties were visible.
“Stop that, Andrew!” My hands grabbed the robe sash but they avoided my son’s more purposeful hands.
“You know better by now, Mommy. I need to use you.”
“Stop saying that!” I wailed. I felt his fingers reach into the waist band of my underwear. “Don’t, Andrew! Get your hands out of your mother’s panties, right now!”
“You told on me, Mommy. I tried and tried, but I can’t get sex pictures. I need to see you. Then I’m going to use you.”
“Please, Honey. This isn’t right. You’re supposed to find your own girl.”
“Why would I want one of them? They want guys to do all sorts of dumb stuff. That first book was crazy, talking about bringing flowers and talking about dumb girl stuff and taking walks to boring places, without any promise of being able to use one. I like the second book. This is much easier. He pulled my panties down my thighs and past my knees. They fell around my ankles. Spread your legs more.”
I didn’t, but they didn’t resist hands prying them open. A full and deep shame enveloped me. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I fight my son? I hated myself. Here I was exposing my most private parts to the boy born from them.
“Golly!” He exclaimed upon first sight. “That’s so different.”
His words hurt me.
“But not as much as my penis is different from The Man’s.” His gaze wandered.
A strange sense of comfort pushed out the previous hurt. I heard myself say, “It’s like fingerprints or snowflakes.” I sounded as if I wanted to contribute to his abuse.
His penis slapped the inside of my right thigh. He rubbed it a few times, then stepped closer. His prick head wobbled dangerously close to my outer lips.
“Andrew, don’t you dare!” I said, horrified!
“What are you going to do about it?” He smiled and prodded his mother’s cunt lips, with his hard dick.
Finally, one hand responded to my will. There was no way I would ever let my son penetrate me. I grabbed his erect dick. “Stop it! I told you.” I deflected it from his intended target.
“Ohh, Mommy!” His eyes changed. Touching him had a profound effect. “I like that!” He patted my resisting hand. I thanked the gods my son hadn’t learned what a cunt, wrapped around his dick, felt like. I think instinct took over. He hunched his hard penis into my fingers. “Yeah!”
We reached an impasse. He couldn’t get his dick inside of me, and I was inadvertently jacking him off. That was enough for him. He thrust himself through my grasp, back and forth. I would be lying if I told you I held my hand still. I tried to, but like the rest of my body, it acted on its own.
“I didn’t know I could use you like this!” He smiled down at me.
“Please stop saying that.” I whispered. I doubt he heard me. My hand clenched and relaxed at his rhythm. He started groaning, sooner than when he had rubbed himself on my belly and thigh. I swear, I felt his erection grow. I heard myself pant. “You can’t do it in Mommy, just my hand.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. He was close. My hand sprang to life, jerking the taut skin up and down his four and a half inch shaft. Not five seconds later, he bucked crazily, rutting his hardness back and forth like a madman. He erupted, “Aaaaaahhhh!” A dot of wetness glistened at his top. He slowed humping my fist and opened his eyes. “Can I call you a bitch now?”
My jaw fell open. “NO!” I screamed on the inside. “N-never, please!” I managed.
“Huh.” He said non-committed. He took my hand in his and jacked himself with it. “You have pretty hands.” Andrew pulled out of my grasp and backed out of the room, smiling as if he’d won a computer game.
I didn’t move from my splayed position until he asked me to make breakfast. Until then, I managed to resist fondling my steaming pussy.
I was useless at work, that day. Claire had to catch several of my mistakes. “Hey, Boss, are you on planet?” She only called me, Boss, when she was serious and Asshat was away.
“No, but I can’t talk about it.” I gave her an apologetic smile.
Days fled, one merging into another, each I awoke to with dread. Andrew masturbated in his room, most days, even those when his father was at the company. My work improved quickly. My attitude at home slumped. I only smiled for my husband. Our sex lives slacked, to every other day. He didn’t act too put out. I raised the issue once, after Andrew had gone to bed.
“Am I slowing you down, sexually, Garrick?”
“Huh?” I’d surprised him. “What a question?”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay, Honey.” He considered it. “Not really. I’m happy enough to oblige or not. You know that about me, right?”
“Really?” It sounded nonsensical.
“Honestly, I don’t even masturbate. I never think to. When you drag me off to bed, that’s all I could ask for. Otherwise, I’m not motivated, at least as much as Andy seems to be.” He tried make me laugh. My face turned white.
“Hey! I was kidding.”
I gulped my shock and nodded. “I know.” I managed to smile. We didn’t broach the subject again.
I forced myself to have sex with my husband that night. It was another first for me.
…to be continued
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/98e4rw/smoms_ingrid_ch1_fm_reluctant_noncon_slow_mast