Waking to a Burn by fsqueeze,fsqueeze

There.

It was an irregular-shaped watermark or stain, and it was dead center of where she had been laying at two in the morning when I helped her.

I glanced at Mom, she continued to munch away on her breakfast.

Scrutinizing the mark, I noticed it was small, about the size of a watch face, and shaped a bit like Australia. It wasn’t yellow; I didn’t think it was urine.

Could it be–? I asked myself without finishing the question.

Glancing again at Mom, I bent over the mark, putting my nose directly upon it, and took in the scent. It was definitely not pee. It was not excess gel cream. It was a smell that I felt like I had known my entire life, like it was written into my DNA to recognize. In fact, I realized, it was an aroma that I had discerned in the middle of the night, here in this very room, and somehow ignored.

I took in the fragrance again. My heart, like an engine, revved. I liked that smell, and I knew precisely what it was and what it meant.

I climbed off the bed and watched Mom finish her meal. Inside I was a tornado.

It wasn’t just me. It was her, too. My gosh, I wondered, what did this mean? Did she–di she like it? Did she enjoy having a finger in her bottom? What else would she like?

With a sigh, Mom finished her last bite and set down the fork. I took the tray away, and she laid down her head. “Sugar, I’m going to use the ladies’ room and take another shower in a few minutes. Last time, the water helped, but I paid a price afterward in itchiness, so be ready with the gel cream, okay?”

“I will.”

“Thank you so much for a wonderful breakfast. You’re a real gentleman.”

“You’re welcome, Mom.”

The early clouds seemed to burn away in the morning, and by nine o’clock bright sunlight illuminated almost every room in the house while Mom was in the shower. I went outside for a bit to check my messages and apps.

Mom texted me while I was out there: “Itchy!”

Heart blitzing and nerves fluttering, I went to my room first. I stripped naked before putting on a fresh set of gym shorts–and nothing else.

Her response to my knock was “hurry!”

When I came in, she didn’t even notice I had changed. She was back in the center of her bed, and her hair was wrapped up in a towel. The sheet was pulled up to cover her bottom, but no higher.

“Everywhere?” I asked.

“No,” she huffed. “Just my fanny. Just my fanny. I’m so sorry. Like before, if you can.”

Again, I felt an unsettling urgency to see her bottom–a feeling of being deprived of something. When I snatched the sheet away and saw it there like a sunrise, deep contentment replaced the disquiet. I took the container and mounted her thighs.

Wasting no time, I kneaded the gel cream into the flesh of each globe in wide circles. Mom showed her appreciation with little sighs. Less than a minute later, I was inside the cleft, using my fingers to massage the ointment into the skin. Then, with my heart surging and excitement rocketing to a peak, I slowed everything down to savor the moment.

I sensed Mom’s brimming expectation when I pried her open with my left hand. A quiet eagerness seemed to mark her posture and breathing. Gathering a small scoop of cream on my index finger, I slowly blanketed her anus with it. Mom let slip a gossamer moan. Then, gently and carefully, I worked the cream into the taut wrinkles. The muscle grew pliant.

It was ready.

I drew a deep breath in anticipation. The aroma of her fluids, faint and subtle, wafted through my nostrils. A little groan escaped me.

Then, a small unfamiliar movement caught my attention. I almost didn’t care. My eyes remained fixed on Mom’s anus. Again, something moved, or rather, something caught the light. I glanced at the source, and it vanished in a flash.

It had been a small make-up mirror.

Trying not to give away that I had seen it, I continued my massage of that little pink knot underneath me. My mind, however, activated, asking questions and seeking answers.

Replaying the moment in my mind, I had seen Mom’s hand snatch the mirror down and tuck it under her pillow in a flash. She was watching me, and she didn’t want me to know it. She wanted to see exactly what I was doing behind her. What did that mean? Was it out of concern or interest?

Staring down at her anus, I decided I didn’t really care. I continued to massage her little hole, feeling my erection grow to completion.

A silvery flicker at the head of the bed told me she had just brought the mirror up to see. I felt reckless. The strength of my erection filled me with brazen confidence. I did not look into her mirror. Instead, I rose high and stretched out my arms, granting Mom a clear and unfettered view of what surely was a profanely conspicuous erection distorting my shorts.

She didn’t say anything.

Settling in once again, I began massaging her fanny with both hands. The mirror, I knew, was still there. I released her with one hand and used the other to hold her open enough for me to see her little star. Hooking my thumb underneath the waistband of my shorts, I tugged them down to my hips.

I slid my hand into my shorts and withdrew my erect penis. I knew it would be there in the mirror for her to witness.

Without hesitating, I placed the tip of my middle finger against the nexus of that incredible little muscle and began inching it inside of her. I fed the digit past the first knuckle and all the way to the second, stopping just short. Then, never once taking my eyes away from the place where her body clasped my finger, I seized my erection and began to steadily ride it with my fist, back and forth.