S.M.O.M.S. (Ingrid) by DiscipleN
Chapter 5
Near dusk, Mother found us wiping picture frames and polishing furniture. She studied our work in minute detail. “What’s left on the checklist?”
“I think we got it all, Ruth.” Words I never would have spoken to her.
She had pinned the list to the refrigerator, with a magnet. Studying it, she coughed. “Did you sand the crossbeams?”
“I don’t remember that on the list.” Andrew cocked his head.
Mother looked at me. “You didn’t tell him?”
“I was washing the rugs out back.”
“Excuses!” She told her grandson, “That’s part of the room scrubbing. The humidity weakens the surface of those two timbers. Even if you oil them, you have to sand them once a year and apply fresh oil.
“Sorry. I’ll get to it after supper.”
“You’ll have to move out half of the furniture again to avoid drips.” She shook her head. “I don’t blame you, Grandson.” Until then, she had called him, Andy. “I see I should have been more specific. I trusted your mother to remember something that important. I was wrong.” She sighed and looked at her daughter. “You look proper worn out today, Ingrid. You can’t be expected to remember everything. I’ll help you in the kitchen.”
A dreadful line was crossed, when Mother started blaming herself and took direct control.
Mom whipped up a mean Au Gratin, while I baked porkchops and sautéed green beans. After eating the moderate but tasty meal. She supervised us to clear the table and wash the dishes. She didn’t say anything, just scrutinized every task. When the last fork was placed in the drying rack, I waited.
“Thank you.” She said and walked into her not quite perfectly reset living room.
I trudged into the shower. When I was done, Andrew took his. He found me under the top sheet, with the duvet folded down to the end of the bed. He crawled in next to me, not touching. “I’m beat.”
We didn’t sleep. Somehow, Andrew knew I was waiting. The clock struck nine. Mother called from the closed door. “Ingrid, see me in my room, will you?”
I climbed out naked and grabbed my houserobe. I had pulled it out of my suitcase and laid it across the back of a chair, before crawling into bed.
“Mom?” My son watched me cover myself.
“Try to sleep, Andrew. I may be a while.” I exited the room. I found mother wearing a thick, white terrycloth robe. She sat on her bed, beside her lay a ‘gift’ I hadn’t seen in years.
“Close the door behind you, Daughter, and lock it.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Come here, Child.” She patted her lap.
I took off my robe and folded it neatly. Placing it at the foot of her bed, I turned and bent down, across her lap.
“Sweetheart, I love you.” She patted my backside with a warm hand.
“I know, Momma.”
“I’m not doing this for you. It’s too late for that. You’ve grown and built a good life for yourself. I’m proud of you.” She kept her voice low. “Your son is becoming a fine young man.”
“Thank you, Mother. I owe it to you. You raised me better than anyone could have.” I whispered.
“He’s outside. Isn’t he.” She whispered next to my ear.
I nodded. We both knew our offspring wouldn’t have remained in bed, no matter how tired he was.
Mother pick up the instrument. “Try to relax.”
I tried. I really tried.
When the hickory wand smote a red line across my backside, I cried out, “OOWWWW!!” My cheeks jiggled for several seconds after its impact.
“Don’t hold back, Daughter. I won’t.” She struck my bare cheeks again. CRACK!
“YAAAA!!!”
CRACK!!
I howled. “OOOOooooo!!”
CRACK!
“OOWWWW!”
“You forgot to count, Sweetheart.” I have to give you twenty more for forgetting.
CRACK!
“FOORRREEE!!”
“Good girl.” SWACK!! She hit harder when she praised me.
“FYIIIIVVE!”
By the tenth stroke, I was bawling, but I never forgot to count.
After the first twenty, she rubbed an astringent into my welts. It burned deep. My tears were continuous streams.
CRACK!!
CRACK!!
CRACK!!
She paused again when my count reached fifty. She rubbed more of the burning liniment into the raised lines across my ass. Mother was careful not to strike the same line more than three times. “Should we stop now, Child, or do you want the full count tonight?”
I knew better. “I need to finish it, Mommy.” I cried.
“That’s right, Ingrid. It’s always better to finish things while they’re in front of us.” Mother praised me loud enough for Andrew to hear. SWACK!! She struck out of rhythm. She put all her strength behind that strike.
“OOooowwww,” I blubbered. “Fifty one.”
Then mother did something she’d never done before. She plucked one of my hands by the wrist and drew it down my body. Shifting her seat for better access, she pushed my hand under my belly and between my legs. “I hate that you’re suffering so. You used to hurry to your room after corrections. I know what you did then. If it still comforts you, it’s okay. It won’t slow my hand one bit.”
SWACK!!
“FIIIIIFFFFy two!” I howled. My hand discovered the wetness of my pussy and went right to work. Over the course of my last, additional twenty swats, I drew three orgasms from the cunt that was slowly taking over my identity.
SWACK!!!
“SSSSSEEEVENTYYY, EIGHT!” I could barely speak. My eyes had run out of tears. My loins gave no further pleasure. My body thrummed, consumed with pain.
SWACK!!
“SS-HHHEEH-venty nine.”
For the last swat, she pressed her lips to my flaming ass. “Eighty.” She declared. Instead of liniment, she spread soft, cold cream over my wounds. I cried and cried without tears. Mother hugged me and kissed my face repeatedly.
“Is it finished, Mommy? Did we finish?” I rasped.
“Yes, Ingrid.” She spoke openly. “You’re back in my good graces.”
“Thank you, Mommy. I’m going to be good. I will be. I promise.”
“You are, Darling.
I awoke at seven AM, in my mother’s bed, her arm around me. Getting up, I struggled into my robe and shuffled to the door. I was allowed to skip showering these mornings. I peeked into the guest room. Andrew snored soundly under the covers. Somehow I managed to put breakfast on the table in time.
“Grandson, you’re coming with me, this morning. It’s time you learned the nuts and bolts of things you operate.” Mother pulled a mouthful of coffee from her mug.
“What’s Mom going to do?” Upon seeing me that morning, Andrew regarded me with dreadful concern.
“I’ll put her worksheet on the refrigerator before we leave. Finish your plate, and let’s go.”
“Okay, Ruth.”
“Call me, Grandma. It’ll be easier for you.”
My son’s eyes bulged. He’d never experienced the full force of my mother’s will.
The list of tasks she left me were lighter, but they would fill every minute of the day, even if I weren’t hobbled by an ass dark from welts.
I worked steadily, without fail, grabbing fruit and nuts for lunch, continuing the work. The day wore on. I wore out, but I pressed myself. I ached from excessive labor over the two days prior. The undaunted agony in my hips and spine, masked sore muscles and stretched ligaments. I worked.
Mother called to say she would be an hour late. That still wasn’t enough time, but I managed to complete the list. I signed it, an old habit from twenty years ago.
“I’m sorry for being late.” She breezed in. Andrew followed, looking like hell. “Some lessons didn’t take as quickly as I’d hoped.” She promised to make dinner to compensate for her delay. She went to the freezer in the shed out back, returning with three frozen dinners. They were expensive organic ones, a special treat to my mother’s thinking.
My son and I ate slowly. Mother matched our pace by sheer force of will. We spoke little. She told me she didn’t need to check my work. “I trust you.”
During the day, I also washed my work worn pajamas. My son watched me change into them, his eyes blank as concrete walls. Before Andrew fell asleep, he promised, “I’ll never collar you again.”
I felt just as wretched the next day, and the next. Mother ratcheted up our workload exponentially. In one day we cleaned the attic and the guest room. The next, we cleaned her bedroom and reorganized the shed and garage.
“It’s Saturday. What shall we do?” Mother announced that morning. It was the first day I could sit down without wincing.
We spent the morning at two local museums, one historical, one of the arts. She bought us lunch at a crab shack. That afternoon, we strolled five miles through the city’s largest park. We’d left a lamb roast defrosting in the refrigerator. I cooked peas and carrots, mashed potatoes, and sweet corn on the cob, while she carefully broiled it. After dinner, we watched more of the costume drama she and Andrew had started.
“I’m going to bed, Grandma.” Andrew said as soon as the credits rolled.
“You can sleep in, tomorrow.” Mother instructed.
I woke at seven am with my son’s arm around me. I lay there for half an hour, grateful for a moment all to myself. Andrew stirred and withdrew his arm. I huddled, turned away from him. His bedclothes rustled. There was a slight jangle. I swallowed.
He slipped the collar around my neck and locked it. “Open you legs, Mother.” He wriggled up and spooned me. My son’s hard cock pressed into my sore asscheek. He waited.
I couldn’t talk. My mind blanked. My right leg lifted.
“I need you to show me, Mom.”
One hand reached between my open legs and caught the head of my son’s flaring prick. He eased it through my thighs. My hand guided it past the hairs of my nest and into my vulva. My vagina was dry. “Wait, Honey.” I slid his head up and down the warm slit, to occupy him and stimulate lubrication. I pressed and rubbed it several times against my hard clitoris.
Andrew’s heart raced and his breathing matched it. “What’s happening, Mom? Tell me.”
“I’m almost there. Can you feel it getting ready?”
“Yeah. It’s growing wet.” His said with ragged breath.
“For you, Andrew. It’s getting wet for you.”
“Aaaauuggghhhffff.” He suddenly groaned. Cum spurted out of his dick and along the groove of my pussy. He shot three times before I aimed it away from my wanting cunt. I held on, trying to catch every drop in my hand. It pulsed happily, spewing for lingering seconds.
“Oh my god, Mom. I can’t believe that happened!”
“You do realize, a chance like this may never occur again?” I warned.
“Not if I can help it.” He said stupidly.
“Pull the covers away, Andrew. My hands are messy.”
He was careful to keep them from dragging against my behind. Some of his cum dribbled out there. My right hand kept it from reaching the sheets. I didn’t put on a show, but I licked every drop of incestuous sperm from my hands. I reached between my legs for a second helping.
“Next time, Mom, push it into your pussy.” He urged hoarsely.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I chinned the collar away from my neck, and he unlocked it.
The dresser clock chimed eight o-clock. I rose, showered quickly, dressed, and entered the kitchen.
Mother read the paper while I fixed French toast and turkey sausages. “I don’t approve.” She muttered.
“What?” I asked setting the table.
Two teams, baseball and soccer are fighting for access to the sports arena. The world would be a better place if society emphasized games of cooperation rather than conflict.”
“That’s something Andrew knows a lot about.” He loved to play co-op games.
“What, Mom?” The devil himself arrived.
“Good morning, Grandson.” Mother greeted him with a smile and folded the paper. She reached over and laid it on the counter. Andrew sat at his designated place.
“It’s Sunday,” I trolled, “Chew every morsel ten times.” I placed dishes laden with food between our plates.
“Rest is for the wicked-” Mother started. I chimed in. “Relaxing is for the accomplished.”
Breakfast stretched out for over an hour.
“How are you holding up?”
“Barely.” Her grandson didn’t lie. “Mom’s incredible!”
“She’s adequate, Child. Any greater praise will go to her head.”
“Mother, I’m going to visit Lila today. I’ll bake cookies before I go.”
“I’m a little upset about her, Ingrid. She’s been regularly irresponsible for a few years now.”
“She’s having trouble with Eric.” I spoke without thinking.
“How would you know that?” Mother stabbed.
“Um, we talked, briefly, a few days ago.”
“Is she well? I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
“I’m not sure. That’s one reason for seeing her today.”
“She likes gingerbread cookies with caramel bits.”
“I’ll have to go to the store.”
“Take Andrew. I’ll get things ready in the kitchen. Be back in an hour. I have a surprise for you both, this afternoon.”
I chuckled. “It’ll be faster if I leave him here.”
“Don’t contradict me.” Mother sliced.
“Andrew, clear the table and help me wash.”
“No.” Mother intervened. “I’ll do that. Change into something decent and go.” She scanned his sweats. “You too.”
Fifteen minutes later, my son and I rode away in Mother’s car. Funny, never in my life had she cautioned me to be careful with it, as if an accident’s result would be a pleasure to fix or junk at her discretion.
“What was that about?” Andrew wondered aloud.
“Best not to ask. Best to let her alone.”
“Have we been cramping her style? Maybe she’s got a boyfr-”
“Rip that thought out of your head. Your grandmother is a virgin. She bore me from her navel.” I pulled into the local market’s parking lot and stopped the engine.
He pulled the collar from the inner pocket of his jacket. “I’m going to put it loose on you. So it will rest as low as possible. Hide it with your coat collar.
“Andrew, we don’t have time for foolishness!” I objected. I ended up pushing a cart with one hand and clasping the top of my coat with the other.
“Isn’t it fun, Mom. Only you and I know.”
Fortunately, it was Sunday morning when most people were at church or still asleep. Only the grocers took notice of us. Most of them looked close to the end of their shift or hung over.
Andrew seemed content with my level of embarrassment. Other than having to shop with one hand, we made it out of the store in good time. “Thanks for buying the wooden clothespins.” I’d told him there were plenty at home. He argued, they weren’t his to do with as he liked.
He uncollared me in the garage. I had him carry groceries into the house.
A fully prepped kitchen waited, complete with Mother’s recipe for ginger bread cookies. I set to work. Andrew wondered aloud about where Grandma had gone. He walked away once I stopped paying attention to him.
“Her room’s locked.” He returned. I was mixing flour with baking soda.
“Let her be. She needs private time like the rest of us. We are cramping her style. She likes living alone.
He checked again, he promised quietly, when I was daubing dough onto parchment paper and pressing cheap caramel bits into the dough.
When the second batch finished baking, I told him to take the sheets out and let them cool. I washed my hands and went to mother’s door. It sounded awfully quiet. Damn. “Mom?” I knocked.
She didn’t answer.
“I’m going to come in, Mom.” I told myself not to worry – maybe she’d closed the locked door by accident and was out walking the neighborhood. She often did the latter. “Andrew, fetch me a nail, 5p”
He arrived in under a minute with the ‘key’. I pressed it into the handle’s slot and wrenched the door open. “Oh, MOTHER!” I rushed to her bed. She lay peaceful. Her chest lifted slightly, too much time passed before it lifted again.
“Look here, Mom.” Andrew picked up a pill bottle. It was oxycodin.
“Call poison control.” I read the minuscule instructions in case of overdose. I moved mother’s head to the side of her bed and aimed her face away from it. Wrenching her mouth open, I stuck my middle finger down her throat, not caring if she bit down. Her body barely reacted. I wriggled my finger and pressed deeper. He body heaved once, but only a little bile emerged. “Call 911!”
The firemen medics resuscitated her with an injection and a squeeze bag. When the ambulance carted her off to the hospital, I sank down to my knees. I let Andrew drive mother’s car, while I gave directions. We found her sitting up in bed, complaining about rampant disorganization by the nursing staff. Two day’s later, the whole story emerged. I told her, she could rot in the hospital until she explained. She hates hospitals.
After chemotherapy cured her of a troublesome but not cancerous tumor, an idiot doctor prescribed twenty tablets of oxycodin. Mother took them sparingly at first. Then she discovered how well they erased her pain after a hard day at work. She convinced the doctor to refill her prescription three times. The pills allowed her to work even harder. When the doctor refused to fill it again, she happened to complain about it within earshot of her coworkers. One of them knew how to order drugs through the dark channels of the internet. He, like all of her employees, admired her. He only doubled his cost.
“You need to tell the police.” I swore.
“No. I’ll fire Nathan, but I won’t have him arrested.”
Mother had me sign her release papers on the third day. She allowed the only nurse she could stand, to wheel her to the lobby, as per hospital regulations. She hopped out of the chair upon arriving, but not as spry as I remembered. Andrew greeted her with a bag of cookies tied with a bow.
“Happy Birthday, Andrew.” She took his arm and didn’t leave his side for the rest of the day.
By no means was Mother in the clear. The anti-withdrawal drugs, she left with, wouldn’t last the week. She had to petition, twice a month for maintenance.
I let her take the day with her grandson. She spent almost lavishly, buying him incredible meals, a set of fine clothes, even a suit. She called the shop to confirm that his car would be pieced back together, if not fully overhauled.
When asked what he wanted to do after dinner, he answered he wanted to finish that damn mini-series! We returned home with haste. They finished last episode just past midnight.
“You have a long trip tomorrow. Don’t break down, and don’t attract the interstate pigs.” Mom told him. We were letting him drive home with only his learner’s permit. It had been upgraded to occasional, short trips, but it’d burn if the highway patrol caught sight of it.
I had to stay and arrange mother’s trip. She would live with us, until a doctor confirmed she’d beaten her addiction. I called the main branch and claimed a family emergency. Claire promised she’d been holding the fort secure against the daily barbarians.
After the show, Mother waved us away. “I don’t need hand holding, getting to bed. Good night!”
Andrew and I entered our room together. I shut the door and stripped efficiently. Instead of fetching my pajamas, I went to his suitcase and unzipped an inner compartment. Rising, I held the collar and key out to my son. “Happy Birthday.”
“It’s after midnight, Mom.” He grinned.
“You were born at eight-fifteen in the morning, in this time zone. You still have hours to celebrate.”
He took the collar and key.
“You can’t fuck me.” I risked the foul word in my mother’s home.
“Honestly, Mom, I wonder if I can get it up.” His eyes shined. He’d been physically wrecked the first week and emotionally wrecked the second.
Freshly collared, I undressed my son slowly. He stood, exuding gratitude. By the time I pulled his briefs down, the bulge showed more than signs of life. I took him in my mouth and sucked it gently. He needn’t have worried. My darting tongue quickly formed into a sturdy shape. His hips eased prickmeat in and out of my tight lips. “Mom, you’re incredible.”
I pulled off of him. “Do you want me to finish you this way?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Nothing, Andrew.” I shouldn’t have risked spoiling the mood, but I had to remind him. “I love your father. I only want to do these things with him. But these last weeks have been entirely surreal, and I don’t mind this tonight. Don’t expect anything like it, next year.”
“Sure, Mom. I should respect what you have with Dad. I love him too, but I want you more than anything.” He lifted me up by my chin. “Go lie on the bed. We’re not sleeping tonight.”
My son’s command relieved my heart. He emotions would recover well enough, to my shame. I went to bed and stretched out. My flaxen hair splayed across the pillow. My breasts jutted with promise. My legs locked firmly together.
He came to me and mounted my body. His weight pressed me into the soft mattress and heat into my flesh. His rampant prong nestled in the groove of my thighs. He dug his arms around behind me, for a hearty hug. He bent his head down and kissed my nipples. Soon he was sucking them, one and then the other, for all they were worth. I remembered the sensation of milk flowing into my boy’s mouth long ago. He hunched and pressed, dragging his full manhood up and down the crevice between my legs.
I brushed his hair with my fingers. I kissed the top of his head. I hugged him back and wriggled my hips to increase the sensation in his slowly rutting cock. He pulled away.
“That’s too good, Mom. Open your legs.”
“Andrew, I warned you-”
He nodded but insisted. “Open them.”
I had to trust him. My legs parted, allowing him to kneel between. He took his prick and rubbed the tip up and down my hairy slit. It was sufficiently wet for penetration. I knew. Did he? I bit my hand and glared. He’d better not dare. If luck was with me, he’d ejaculate before he wanted, from previously unfelt sensations. Either our difficult week dulled his senses, or he willed himself back from the edge. Delight lit up his face as he witnessed, for the first time, his cock playing upon the entrance that bore him into the world. He shuffled further from me and dipped his head a second time.
Thank god my hand filled my mouth. I bit hard and gasp when his tongue licked moisture seeping from my hot gash! Last Sunday he knew he needed his mother’s help to reach the inner opening to her womb. That was something a book couldn’t teach, but he sure knew where my clit was, and he attacked like a hungry dog. I groaned into my hand. I did want him, then, to fill my body with his jutting tool. I judged it would be a better fit than Garrick’s, but my judgement was not trustworthy then. I loved receiving head! Garrick was dependable, not enthusiastic. Usually I had to ask for it. I would have begged him, but my husband is an agreeable sort.
Andrew licked and sucked, trying every act imaginable between a face and a pussy. Three minutes of sucking, licking, and prodding spurred a first cum from my juicy cunt. After five minutes, reality overran fantasy. His jaw slacked, and he withdrew. “Mmmm.” He moaned, but he wasn’t out. He was just beginning. Forcefully, he grabbed my knees and raised them high. My legs folded, and he pushed them wide over my belly. His knees propelled him forward until his thighs touched my ass. Pubes on his dangling balls tickled my blond thatch.
I shivered. I pulled my hand away from my mouth, ready to warn him again. I half feared half hoped he would ignore my ultimatum. My son bent his hips and lowered them, to press his throbbing shaft along the groove of my cunt. The hair on his balls connected with my ass.
“I’m going to fuck your hairy lips, Momma.” He slid forward, rubbing the underside of his meaty penis up the length of my vulva. He pressed back, slicing prick down the wet slit. It felt heavenly. I kept that to myself, but my body responded by opposing his humps and slides.
“Ooohhh, yeah.” He huffed, picking up speed. “Mmmmnnnggg!”
I couldn’t stop small moans issuing from my lips. I shivered from the jolt of electricity his prick sent through my clit, each time his bulbous head knocked it. I cradled his sharper head in my arms and pressed him to my tits. He responded by darting his tongue across the nipple it could reach. His fucking motion increased. The speeding shaft scooped out my drippings and sprayed them into my bellybutton and into the sheet below. The idea of defiling mother’s guest bed would have horrified me only days ago, now it released a pending orgasm which made me cry out. “Oooohhhh!!”
Then, I shouted, “OWWW!” Andrew’s dick dipped too low and when he fucked up, it jammed into my vulva. He yelped too and rolled off me.
“Sorry.”
“Shhh!” I insisted. We listened.
“Ingrid?” Mom’s voice called from her room.
I shot out of bed and went to the door. I opened it and answered. “It’s okay, Mom. Just a dumb accident.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.” I closed the door. It didn’t have a lock. Then Andrew was behind me. His pussy slicked dick pressed into my behind. He pushed me against the closed door and humped into the crack of my ass.
“You’ll make the door pound its frame.” I shifted to the closest wall. My son didn’t stop fucking my ass cheeks.
“Ohhh, I’m close, Mother.”
“Are you going to cum?”
“Mmmgg.” He grunted.
I wriggled my hips to work his cock into a frenzy. “Come on my ass, Andrew. Cum hard.”
“Nnnnggghhh!” He fucked faster, drying out the pussy juice on his prick. “I want to fuck you so bad, Mom.”
When he finally came, its torrent saved my skin from burning friction. His first shot arced across my back and soaked the fringe of my elbow length hair. His second painted a thick streak up my spine. More cum splashed hot on my back and slid down, re-lubricating the groove of my ass. His hard shaft didn’t slow. Cum bubbled out of the tip, until his fury waned, and he slumped against me. “That was the best.”
“Happy Birthday, Andrew.” I began cleaning myself, now used to wiping and licking the globs of warmth he had bestowed on me. I hadn’t finished before he dragged me back to bed and made me suck him back to life.
He had promised himself, he was going to fuck my pussy, even if it was only the outer lips. I stayed wet. He fucked slower and lasted longer. There was no chance of a misfire, but he did press his luck. Before planting his tool along my slit, he pressed his tip into my vulva. He slid it like a zipper tab up and down my white, pouting lips. He felt the inner entrance, lower down.
“Andrew!” I hissed. “Don’t you dare.”
He said nothing but withdrew, having primed my well and caused me to fret. He liked it when I worried. That’s when he began his slow march to a second eruption that night.
I came twice more from his rutting. I imagined Mother opening the door to check on us. It was a powerful orgasm, that one. I came again when my son did. His cock spewed nearly as much across my front as it had upon my back. It blasted over my tits and belly. The last dribbles soaked into my pubs. I scraped and scraped to get as much into my mouth as I could. I even sucked the cum from his flagging penis.
“You really should push it deep into your cunt, Mom.” He suggested.
“That’s where it belongs.” My mind agreed with him. I swore, “You’ll be lucky if I taste your spend, after we return home.”
“I dunno.” His eyes twinkled. “Grandma’s going to live with us for a little while. We’ll see which makes you more compliant, her presence or this house.”
I didn’t know the answer to that, but it was clear that my son was figuring out my weaknesses. My heart shuddered with dread.
He wanted to play more. He sucked on my breasts and tried giving me head again, but he had reached his limit. We ended up hugging and kissing, tongues entwined. I could have fingered myself to another orgasm, but guilt caught up with me. In a few days, I would return to my husband.
I eventually convinced Andrew to get some sleep. He had never driven long distance before. I let him sleep late, making two breakfasts that day, an early one for Mother and one for him around eleven. Mother thought it was unconscionable for a body to sleep that much. I told her it was her fault, something I had never done before.
“Now you’re asking for the hickory.” She grinned. “Foolish child.”
“Foolish mother.” I pressed, “Both of us!”
She nodded and sipped coffee. Her grandson entered looking like something the cat dragged in. “Good morning, Andrew.”
“Hi Grandma.” He brightened at the sight of food made fresh for him.
“You’re old enough to call me Ruth.” Mother told him.
to be continued
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/9fc9f6/smoms_ingrid_ch5_fm_reluctant_oral_spank_slow