Twenty Cups Ch. 05

I kissed the back of her neck, gasping for breath.

She went on. "I came when I felt you starting to go, and when I started feeling your cum in my butt, my body just...I don't know...exploded. Oh, fuck, that was the best."

We rested, and I remained hard inside her bottom.

To get my sample, Emma took charge. She told me to keep my penis inside her while I lifted her bottom off the bed. She had me carry her to the side of the bed and then lay her down. Once there, I was close enough to the cup to grab it.

Emma's knees were on the floor and her body lay across on the bed. I was behind her, still connected.

She had me unscrew the lid and ready the cup underneath her. Then, she told me to pull out. It was smoothly done. I caught the initial rush, and Emma urged out the rest.

I had sample number 19.

After I set it on my desk, Emma waved me to her. We made out. She fondled my diminishing erection, and I her breasts.

She broke off the kiss and said, "I think I love you, fuzzy boy."

I blinked, and then said, "Of course you do. I'm your brother."

She seemed to consider this, and then she smiled and brightly said, "Yeah."

"I love you, too, Em."

We showered together, and Emma was very playful. She washed my penis and delighted herself by making me hard.

Then, she sucked on it, and I was, again, astonished at how much she could take down her throat.

She laid me down in the tub. Her body glistened with water, and her frizzy hair was matted down and slicked back. Squatting, she impaled herself on my penis and rode me. We came together a few minutes later, just as the water was beginning to cool. I squeezed her breasts as my erection loosed into her vagina.

No condom necessary; Emma was on the pill.

***

When Lia came home from her friend's house, she and Emma went upstairs together. I couldn't hear their words, but I knew from the muffled sounds above me that it was an animated and joyful conversation.

I watched bowl games and dozed.

Then, Mom came home. She checked the freezer for my sample. Didn't say a word. Then, I heard her march upstairs. Minutes after, she called for me to come up.

She waited for me in my room. She sounded miffed.

I stood at the threshold and stared at her. Her red curls were bound up in a ponytail. She wore a tight white tank top. And those pants. I'd never seen ones so tight in my life. She was wearing yoga pants that, it seemed to me, had been painted on her body. Charcoal gray. I could see the outline of her vagina—clearly.

"Look at this room, young man! If your dorm is like this, fine, but not in my house."

"Sorry, Mom."

"Clean it up. Here. Look," she said, and she spun in front of me and bent over, and oh, geez.

Those pants were so tight that they rode inside her bottom, inside the crease. I could see every contour, every curve. Her ass was big and round and beautiful.

Mom scooped up a small pile of clothes. Rising up again, she turned to me and snapped, "Look! You have a hamper! Use it!" She tossed the wad of clothing on top of it.

"I will, Mom."

"And, look at this! What is this?" She bent over again, picking at some crusty deposit on the carpet. Not having much success, she squatted over it, and then she went to her hands and knees. While her fingernails ripped across the deposit, scraping little flakes free, she grumbled, "You...have...no...regard...for...this...house...or...for...other...people's...property."

All the while, her bottom wiggled in front of me. I watched it move, remembering what was under that dark gray material: skin the color of pure cream, flesh like shiny silk, sweeping curves, and the smell and taste that was only hers.

She quit scraping at it. Bottom still pointed up at my face, she turned toward me. Her eyebrows slanted down in irritation, and she asked, "Is this semen? Am I scraping at dried semen?"

"Don't think so."

She turned back and dropped her nose to the carpet, lifting her butt higher. She whiffed at the stuff. "Hmm. Well, this might be semen, young man. I certainly hope you haven't been so careless as to spill some of your samples."

"No, Mom. I haven't." I didn't know what the stuff was, but I didn't care. I stared at the two round masses of her bottom. My heartbeat doubled.

She got up and curtly ordered, "Clean this room."

I nodded, and she left.

An hour later, I knocked on the closed door to Mom's room to let her know I was finished.

"Come in," she called from the other side.

I entered and froze. She was doing her yoga routine.

She was on the floor, on her back, legs spread wide. Her hands firmly gripped her ankles, her knees were locked, and she was pulling her legs backward. "Let me finish," she panted. Pulling on her ankles, her bottom rose from the floor. Every contour and crease on the surface of her vagina stood forth in stark relief against those tight pants. I thought, as her butt curled up towards me, that I could see a faint hint of her anus through her pants.

She blew out a long puff of air. A sheen of perspiration glowed on her pink-infused face. Then, she released her ankles and rose to her feet. "Let's have a look."

She led the way, and I ogled her bottom.

She was thorough and snippy, pointing out areas that I'd missed with abrupt criticism.

"Careless," she announced.

"Pitiful," she declared.

"Do your eyes work? Both of them?" she demanded.

I liked how irritated she seemed. I'm not sure why. Something in her face, maybe. The way she looked so annoyed. The way she patrolled my room like a boss.

"Let's see under the bed."

She suddenly squatted before me and thrust her head and shoulders under my bed frame. With pants on, her bottom could not have been presented to me in a more sexualized fashion as she rooted around under there.

I couldn't move or speak as I watched. My penis began to push my pants out. I glanced at it, and the front knob was clearly visible. I turned back to stare at her bottom. Even after she got up and turned to face me, I was still replaying the image of her butt in my mind.

She said something. I missed it.

"Huh?"

"You're not listening? I said to vacuum this room, and then you are free to enjoy the rest of the day."

"Okay, Mom."

"And don't whip the vacuum around the carpet like you normally do. Do it slowly," she insisted, and her eyes darted down toward my groin. She saw my growing erection, but she didn't say anything else. She just stared at me, waiting.

I nodded, and she left. I watched her body move the entire way.

While vacuuming, I dreamed about Mom's bottom—Beth's bottom.

A few minutes later, I knocked on the door to her room. "Done, Mom!"

No response.

"Mom!"

Nothing. I listened closely at the door.

The shower.

I went in and walked to the master bath door. Knocking, I called out, "Hey, Mom?"

Her voice echoed amongst the tiled walls. I couldn't tell what she said.

"What?" I called to her.

Louder, she yelled, "I said come in! I don't want us screaming at each other!"

I opened the door and walked in. Steam filled the ceiling, and the fluted glass of the shower door showed her naked silhouette, standing under the shower head.

"What is it, baby?"

"Done vacuuming."

"Oh," she said, and her form began moving again. It appeared that her back spun toward me, and then she bent herself in half. Her bottom pushed back and came within fractions an inch of the glass.

I could see the dark line where the halves met, the full curvature of her hips.

She must have been shaving her legs because I faintly saw the shadow of her hand running up the length of her shin and calf.

"Were you attentive and careful?" she asked, her voice still infused with a kind of irritated command.

"Uh-huh."

"Under the bed, too?"

"Yeah."

Mom pivoted to the other leg, and for an instant, her bottom pressed against the glass.

"Good," she responded, "I'll come look when I get out."

"Okay."

"See you in a few minutes."

I turned and left. Before closing the door, I heard her call to me: "Wait!"

Standing in the threshold, I asked, "What's up, Mom?"

"Come here and get my back."

I hesitated.

"Will you?" she asked, and she was almost polite.

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Okay. Hang on. Let me...," her voice trailed off without finishing.

I watched her body through the fluted glass. She grabbed a washcloth and faced away from me. She was doing something with it on her back, and then she stopped.

"Okay, you can open the door."

I did; steam swept across me, rushing across my face and over my head. When all cleared, Mom's back was facing me. She had covered her bottom with a sopping washcloth. Being thoroughly wet, the cloth gripped her bottom; a line of indentation ran down its center along the cleft of her two hemispheres. The washcloth wasn't wide enough to cover the wet skin of her curvy hips, shining under the bright shower light.

Mom's face craned around toward me. The side of her fat breast peeked out around her ribcage. "Get the parts I can't reach." She thrust a sudsy, pink shower sponge back to me.

I took it, and she faced the wall, pushing her bottom towards me. Reaching across, I began to scrub her back. The running water struck my outstretched arm. It was very hot.

"Higher, baby. It's tough to reach the behind my shoulders."

I did as she asked, making soft circles.

The water striking my arm was running down to my elbow, and then, cascading from there down to the floor of the shower in an unbroken stream.

There was a golf ball sitting on the drain. I drew in a sharp breath and glanced up at Mom, but her head remained turned away.

"Keep going. Now the middle," she urged because I had stopped when I saw the ball.

As I scrubbed right to left across her, I noticed the stream of water from my elbow approaching her hip. I bent my arm so that I could watch the stream strike her there and splatter off. There was something lurid about it.

It was like a stream of urine, I thought. The sight was like watching myself pee on Mom's bottom.

And she didn't move. She remained still, her bottom thrust out, barely covered by the washcloth, letting the flow drench her. Every so often, she would hum in satisfaction as I made bubbly spirals on her back with the scrubber-sponge.

I wanted to see her butt. I wanted to know what it would look like to see the stream of hot fluid strike her square on those perfect mounds, or even see it flow down the black fissure between.

I moved my elbow over still further, and the rush of water began to super-saturate the already wet washcloth. The weight of it tugged downward. The cloth fattened and shined. It was sopping, and it slipped down a fraction, exposing the first inch of her cleft and the bulging flesh around it.

I retargeted the stream directly into the crack, and the washcloth fell to the floor with a heavy splat.

"Oh, no," Mom muttered.

"Almost done," I blurted. Then, I said, "Or I can get it for you."

"Let me. Turn away."

I did not. I watched as she bent herself in half. Checking a groan halfway up my throat, my body throbbed, and my heart lurched like an anguished beast.

That was too perfect, too beautiful.

I found myself being handed the washcloth, and I draped it over her bottom.

Mom said, "Try to keep the stream of water off of it."

"Okay."

I finished, replaying the image of her naked form, bent utterly in half, in my mind. I closed my eyes and scrubbed.

A minute later, I heard her. "Done?" she asked.

"Yeah."

I opened my eyes. I had let my head sag as I dreamt of her bottom, and I was looking at the shower floor. Something was different.

Her hand appeared before me, interrupting my thoughts. Mom said, "Give me that poof, and you may go."

I handed her the sponge.

As I walked out, I realized it: the golf ball, it was gone.

***

Mom came into my room about ten minutes later in her white bathrobe. Her skin was flushed pink, and she had slicked her wet hair back. She smelled fresh and clean.

"Okay," she said, energetically looking around the room. "Yes." She checked corners and under things—my chair, the hamper. "Alright. Well done. You're free to be lazy." She turned for the door.

"Mom?"

She stopped and turned.

"Ask you something?"

She nodded.

"In the shower before? I saw a golf ball in there, and..." I stopped when I saw her reaction.

Already pink from the heat of her shower, Mom's face turned bright red.

Continuing, I asked, "Did you..."

"Stop!" Mom barked. "Just stop." She glared at me, unmoving, and then turned away.

***

Everyone went out that night—January 1st—except me. Even Mom was out, having planned to get together with some of her work friends.

I watched a few of the big bowl games, and then stayed up late, waiting for people to come home.

No one did. Not even Mom.

She never stayed out this late.

By 2:00am, I gave up and went to bed.

I read until my eyes sagged, and I lost track of my page a few times. Then, I shut off the light and collapsed.

But in the dark, I thought about Mom's bottom. No matter how many times I flipped my pillow or switched sides, I couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep. I couldn't stop remembering.

Switching the light back on, I began to read again. I'd make it through a paragraph, and then my mind wandered off. So, I'd stop and go back to the last thing I remembered reading. Then, I'd start again, only to drift back to those images of her in the shower, on the floor of my room, stretching in her bedroom.

Time dragged, and seeing 3:46am on my clock made me realize how long I'd been trying and failing to sleep.

I got up, went to the bathroom, and then crept over to Mom's door. It was open.

But she wasn't home. It had never happened before—Mom out all night.

Lia and Emma's nights out sometimes ended with them staying at their friend's house. Not unusual, but Mom? Never once.

I trudged back to my room, thinking I'd never fall asleep. I flopped down, sighing.

Then, I woke up. It was just after 10am.

The house was perfectly still.

I rose and saw that newly fallen snow had blanketed the world in white.

On my way to the bathroom, I remembered that today was my last day—my last sample. When I finished cleaning up, I ran downstairs and grabbed a bite to eat. I checked the garage for Mom's car, but it was gone.

Strange. Had she slid of the road somewhere in the snow?

I jogged up the stairs, wondering if I should call her, see if she's okay.

Then, I stopped.

Snoring. I heard snoring.

That was Mom.

I walked over to her room and looked in the open door. She was there, half-covered by her comforter, dead asleep and snoring. Impulses fired within my mind, but I returned to my room.

Grabbing my final sample cup, I climbed into bed. I froze as an image replayed in my head. I whispered, "No."

I thought to call Lia, see if she might come home. Or Emma.

Nah, they had probably been out all night, partying.

Another vision from yesterday flashed in my mind. Maybe, I thought, I could pull Mom's comforter down, just to see her bottom while she slept. It would help me complete my last sperm sample.

Don't do it, I thought. She was pretty upset yesterday.

But, maybe she'll think I'm Dad, again. She's tired.

Don't count on it.

I got up, anyway. I was in athletic shorts, and I slid the sample container inside one of the pockets as I walked to her room.

I waited and listened in the doorway.

I sat on the edge of her bed and waited there, attuned to her every sound and movement.

I slid her comforter down to her waist, and then I stopped to see her reaction.

I pulled the thick blue comforter down over her hips and stopped.

She wasn't wearing panties.

I sucked in a breath, ogling at how the hefty cheeks sloped up from her back in such a beautiful arc.

I drew the comforter completely off her. She didn't move.

I rose and slipped out of my shorts, tossing them on the bed beside us.

Mom was on her tummy, head turned away from me. Gingerly, I climbed on and studied her body. My heart ached with desire at what I saw.

I straddled her on my hands and knees, and from that position, I bent down and watched how my penis and testicles hung over the rising hills of her bottom. I wasn't hard, yet. I dipped my groin down, letting the head of my penis lightly graze her warm flesh. I rested the front portion of the shaft in the valley between those swelling cheeks. It began to throb and grow.

Before it got too firm, I let the tip rest right in the spot where her legs met her bottom. She was so soft and smooth there, and I continued to harden. The head of my penis seemed to fill the space and begin spreading her apart. I felt where her two cheeks met almost hugging my penis before it lurched up, out of the gap and pointed along the length of her spine. To resume, I would have to crank it down with my hand.

Instead, I lowered myself, letting my testicles graze the silky skin and bump across each hilltop. I let them rest in the gap, where the tip of my penis had been. My erection rode softly along the little dark depression where her two halves met. Before long, my scrotum tightened.

Still apparently sleeping soundly, I glanced up, along Mom's unblemished back towards her face, wondering what I could and should do.

I thought about masturbating. Perhaps I could ejaculate on her bottom, and then somehow scoop it into the jar. Seeing the splashes and quivering pools of semen on each fat, curvy cheek might be something. Would I wake her doing it? Would she come around when I cleaned it off? What if I got some on her bed?

And what about seeing it on her anus? It was crazy to even imagine. If I thought I might get caught doing it on her bottom, how much more likely on her anus? I would have to pry her apart. I envisioned the tip firing at it, coating and drenching the taut hole.

Thinking these things made me want to see it. I had to.

I sat up and softly scooted back so that my core was over the back of her knees. I leaned down, close to her, put my hands on each thick swath of flesh, and gently separated them.

What I saw made me swallow a groan.

Mom's little pink spot, and the area around it in a radius of about an inch and a half, shined with petroleum jelly lubricant.

Without even thinking, I pushed my index finger inside her.

She hummed, and I pushed further.

Then, I stopped.

Was this lube from last night? Some escapade with a boyfriend I didn't know about? Was I about to dip my finger in some other guy's semen?

I began to draw it out, but before I finished, Mom moaned. The sound warmed and thrilled me because it slipped from her lips tentatively, almost shyly.

I suppressed a smile, forgetting for the moment about some possible other guy, and pushed my finger deeper.

Then, I drew it out rapidly, stunned.

What the? My finger had touched something hard, something man-made.

I glanced up at Mom, and her eyes pinched shut. Her jaw fell open. Her body tensed.

I looked down.

I heard her gasp.

Her anus twitched, and then I saw it. The slick, white and puckered face of a golf ball began appearing. Her pink ring blanched as the ball stretched it wide.

Mom panted twice, and then let out a swelling cry.

The ball slid free of her and rolled down to the bed between her legs.

Alternately watching her face and her bottom, I remained still, utterly astonished. Mom's face relaxed, and her body seemed to melt into the mattress. Natural breathing resumed.

I plucked the little white sphere from between her thighs and spread her apart. Her hole glistened with lubricant, and I pressed the ball against her, feeling her muscle resist it. Then, gradually, her body began to allow passage.

I drew it out when I heard Mom draw in a breath.