I think I’m going to scream. If one more child yells, throws something, or hits his brother, I’m going to run out of my house, down the driveway, into the road, screaming like a lunatic.
“Mom! He touched my tentacles!” Ok, that one was funny.
“Don’t punch my nuggets!” Wait, what?
“Private areas are private!” “Leave your brother’s privates alone!” Both are common refrains these days.
By playing like every other little boy before them, their “parts” are getting more action than mine have seen in a while. There’s something wrong with this picture.
Getting up from the kitchen table as quietly as possible, anything to avoid their attention, I slip upstairs and into my bedroom. Grateful I wasn’t caught, I strain to hear the TV and the sounds of their still inappropriate play downstairs.
“I farted on you!”
“Yeah, well, I’ll pee on you!”
I’m pretty confident they’re more scared of my reaction than they are curious to find out what it would be like to pee on each other. Fairly confident. Maybe.
Anyway, they’re playing and for a few glorious moments, I’m forgotten and ignored. I know I’m supposed to enjoy these moments that older parents label as fleeting. I’ll enjoy my children later. Right now, I need to enjoy myself.
Locking my bedroom door, because I’m never ignored for long, I waste no time. Letting my shorts and panties fall to my ankles, I dip my hand directly into my slit. My bone-dry slit. Fuck.
Think of something hot. Think of something that turns you on.
“Stop touching me!” A casual observer wouldn’t realize they really are playing happily.
No, no! Not that. Think of…mmmm, think of his hand wrapped in my hair. Think of the sharp sting of pain when he pulls and yanks, sending tingles through every nerve ending.
Oh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Moisture begins to seep through the walls of my pussy. My fingers move more easily over my skin. Ah! Oh! Touching my clit is almost painful. I like it.
My finger pressed into my clit, circling with force. I realize I’m touching myself like I’m pissed off.
Ok, ok. Pull back, be gentle. Rush it but do it right. Here we go.
Bent over the bed, leaning on one arm, my hand rubs and presses, pushes in and pulls out. Quick, utilitarian moves, nothing sexy. Just gotta get the job done. Ohhhhh, but then my body takes over from my mind. Tense muscles melt as hot cream fills my cunt. Lips swell, clit becoming more sensitive.
Two fingers, in and out, fucking faster and harder. Back arching, hips jutting, feet spreading. I’m a wanton begging to be fucked.
Finally, finally, I hit my clit just the right way at just the right moment. Fireworks explode in my mind as my body jerks and spasms, squirts and gushes. I press into the sensitive nub, relishing the pain that comes from forcing the orgasm to continue.
Burying my face into the blanket, breathing hard, I don’t want to move my hand. I don’t want to pull my panties and shorts back up. I don’t want to play referee.
“Mom?! Where are you??? Mommmmmmmmmmmm!”
Damn it. Never mind. Collecting myself, I open the door.
“I’ll be right down. I need privacy!”
“Private areas are private. Mom needs privacy. Privacy and privates!” They both break out into giggles at their own cleverness. If they only knew how right they were.
The above is actually complete fiction. Ok, the masturbation is complete fiction. Everything else happened while I sat and fantasized about masturbating.