Aunt Cathy Pt. 34

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{Disclaimer: All characters in this piece are eighteen or over}

We got the truck back in the garage and I started unhooking lines, both of them tried to start helping but got told, “Powers back I know how to use a winch. Leave.” The looks I got were comparable to the attitude I’d conveyed. Popoff left, non to pleased, sob stood around for a few before it became clear I wanted to be left alone.

That’s where I made my mistake. The time difference between Pop and sob leaving left just enough gap that when sob mentioned their all going to want to know what happened, Popoff had the kitchen- and me the garage- doors wide open. “Tell them to fuck off, I’ll be there when I get there. OKAY?”

He wasn’t confused, or angry, in fact, all he looked was knowing and sad. That just added confusion, and it sure as hell wasn’t a big help. I slammed the door breaking the glass. They all heard, mom the most. Sob had never said anything about knowing electric was Dawson’s sister, to anyone. It was him that stopped mom halfway to the garage when I heard her yelling, “He better have a god-damned good reason for this shit!”

Looking, timidly, out the broken glass, (yes I’m still scared of my mom) I saw sob with his hands on mom’s shoulders talking in a very body language calming tone. They both turned to walk back to the house, but that did not mean I was out of the woods. All it meant was mom had gone back to grab my hockey gloves, and I was about to get dressed-down, military style.

She didn’t throw them or threaten to choke the life out of me with them. they were offered up for me to take, and when I tried? They were dropped at my feet. And she went off.

“That was the most childish thing you have ever done in your life. What the hell makes you think you can tell a house full of friends and family to fuck off, OR break the glass in MY garage door? I got a call from the fire department telling me what you did, for that reason alone you can stay alive. Pick those up!” My gloves got gathered. “You didn’t buy those, your grandparents, me, your dad, wife, and team-mates all did, PLUS we gave you the chance to wear them. You were already told your dad cheated on me more than once, and here you are about to let Dawson, his slut sister, and team win again.”


“By letting everyone down.”

Could have been the fact I was still steaming mad, or that mom was more pissed at me than ever before, but I didn’t get that at all.

“For fuck sake you can be a brick sometimes!!.” She flicked my forehead with a finger so hard it left a bruise for a few days.

“CAPTAIN! He wants the game win, he’s playing his own razz game to throw you off, just like you do to him every single time. Except now there’s a trickle-down effect. Is this how you’re going to lead your team? Acting like a snot nose three-year-old every time he pushes a button? You are married and a team leader, now either get back in or give up the sweater. Get the brains out of your balls.”

Mom had used the brains out of your balls line before on dad when he got too cocky for comfort. Team leader: the fire captain. Nothing I had been doing, (barring my wife) had been done prioritized or efficiently, I’d just been loping along, worried about everything except coach, team, family, friends, and fans who had trust in me.

She let me stew for a while taking her time to get some plywood to cover up the broken window, while şişli escort a revelation hit me. Captain didn’t mean doing everything myself, I didn’t have to score every goal, or start all the plays, my main job was to watch the game on the ice. Feed that info to coach, and when I had to, call it myself, no hero shit. Awareness, filtering the needless, communicating, and leading. That was a Captains role. Just like that firefighter.

“Well? What do you have to say? Besides sorry?”

“Apologies are obviously in order, I have glass to pay for, and… Thanks, coach.” She wasn’t expecting that and still trying to be serious, but half smiling, her hands went to my face and a not-so-motherly kiss, this one noticeable deeper, again graced my lips.

“You’re welcome. Now come help me hang that over the window.”

I went to grab a screw gun and Mom, who had been holding the wood against her chest, traded the screw gun for plywood bringing her pokies into view. Sob’s morning rant was right. Mary and Cathy, (Bonnie isn’t lacking there either) had nipples so hard they could punch a sizable hole into any material you could think of, but moms?

Perfectly placed, on perfectly shaped, and perfectly hung breasts.

Regardless of any scolding I’d received, my cock was stirring.

“Window? Remember?” She actually had to snap her fingers in front of my eyes before I unlocked the gaze. “What the hell is wrong with

you three today? Firat sob at breakfast, then Popoff when he came through the door, now you? Have you never seen tit’s before?”

“Yeah, but honestly? Sob’s right, well almost, you are NOT a milf.”

You know the stance? Kind of ‘S’ shape with a, ‘oh really look.’

“NO! What I mean is your not the fuckable part.” The ‘S’ shape went dead straight. In its place an arms under the boobs, head cocked, facially demanding explanation formed “WAIT! What I mean is you’re wicked fuckable, just not leaveable.” My eyes got wide, and mom’s a bit sad. “SHIT! You’re not a one-night stand is what I… you know what mom?”

She answered with a, oh this better be good, “What?”

“I think I’m going to quit hockey. Become a grave digger, I seem to be extremely adept at digging holes to sink in.”

Somehow I pushed the right button and she giggled, naughtily.

“I’ll hold the wood and you, screw it in.” Sit where you are right now and try to say, ‘screw it in’ so erotically you get hard. Or wet. And or wet??? You know what I mean.

Nowhere in the history of construction has a slab of wood ever been held to a door by a person, and let me emphasize this, pushing out just far enough, that the person working behind them had no choice but to press in. Mom did nothing to dissolve sobs ‘tease’ comment. It took eight screws to attach that board. Each screw was accompanied by a butt wiggle, I was full-on hard by the time it was done.

“That,” She turned around to squeeze and stroke my dick through my jeans. “Is what you get for breaking the glass.” She literally knocked the drill out of my hand. “Now.” Mom did not sink into any hole, just to her knees. “As far as breakfast goes? I still haven’t eaten.” Fingers went to my zipper. “you mind?”

“Cathy might.”

Yeah, that symbiotic thing. That just paused the unzipping, just a pause. “Then she can come help. And boy? She’s going to have a lot of time to get here.”

Mom took forever to free me, separating mecidiyeköy escort the unzipped halves of my jeans blowing hot breath on each side while she did. My underwear was not pulled but rolled down. A movement she embellished with her thumbs sliding right against my shaft.

She didn’t even let me break fully free before she ran the flat of her tongue up my length, slurping up what might have passed for a cum shot in a porn movie, all it was me leaking worse than the Titanic. “Let’s find out what your aunt has taught you about shaving?” There was no ploop out of my shorts, just a coiled spring boing that came close to putting her eye out. She cradled my balls with a tickling scratch of fingernails.

“Mm, those look nice. All cleaned up, tight, and full of cum. Want me to stop?”

“You’re not going to let me cum are you?” She made a ‘dunno, maybe’ sound as her mouth and throat became too full sliding, honey slow, down my shaft. Every time she came off, a full flat lick around my glans was issued, all the while her fingers never stopped lightly gliding over my balls. Mom’s Cathy timing crack wasn’t flip, she kept at it till my knees started to give a little. “I need to…”

“You are not lying down. Lean against the door. Damn your cock is hard. Almost perfect.”

I’ve got to stop letting mom watch Harley Quinn shit, that’s the grin I got when she said, “I don’t much like the color though.” And the grin she had on her face after going to the workbench to get a utility knife.

Yeah, same thing crossed my mind: If Cathy was going to show up, now was the time.

The cutter went in her mouth as she unzipped her jeans, pulled out one, then the other side of her thong panties, slitting the side strings before drawing them off and out.

“Purple.” That’s all she said.

I bet I could have come up with a thousand different ways she could of used them, tying them masochistically around my shaft and balls, wasn’t one. The color change, much to her glee, didn’t take long and she started flicking my cock head with a fingernail. Not hard, just enough to make my cock bob. “Nice. Now, where was I? Oh yeah!”

She bulleted me down her throat, and very un-misty dream-like drug her teeth up my cock as slow as possible. Those fucking panties held back a flood of cum that should have busted my dick, she knew it and came off with a smirk. “I like this game. How bout you?”

I didn’t say it but definitely did think of calling her one. (Let the reader decide what)

Mom just continued licking, flicking, lapping off the occasional drip of cum, (I was way past the pre part), and deep throating. When she decided it was time for the tip job treatment. Well, the garage door still has fingernail scrapes. You would think with blood flow cut off, my stick would have been impervious to sensation. Nope.a

The next flood that should have come, (bad joke, sorry) did hurt. So much so that the utility knife was picked up so I could unleash my own self. Mom didn’t miss a beat, she knew exactly what was about to happen, and precisely where it should happen to maximize the effect. There was just enough time for her to lift her shirt, put a thick layer of spit into her cleavage, then run me between before it all came out.

Two good spurts bounced off her chin, clear coating her tits. The sight of my cum strings hanging off nipples made me load up again, escort istanbul but before her breakfast had a chance to land who knows where else, I was rethroated. The next three gushes were swallowed, without a drop, dribble, or drip going uneaten. It was accompanied by some watery, wide-eyed, rapid esophagus gulping, and those light-touch fingernails? They put some good rake marks on my ass.

In a porn clip, this would have been where the actress uses a finger scoop lick, and a ‘see food?’ smile to tell you it was delicious. Mom couldn’t, she’d thoroughly finished her protein. “Damn boy, where the hell do you store all that? You got extra balls somewhere?”

I managed a hoarsely spoken, “Huh? Yeah? Sure.”

As far as the boob glazing went, nothing got mopped off. The T-shirt just came down. The cum and the cotton acted like flypaper as far as stickiness, the other effect on the material was translucency. A glance at mom’s chest acted like smelling salts and I became sort of coherent.

“So, mother. I have a question?”

“All ears.”

“Yeah.” Eyes went right to her tits. “Also cum soaked, see-through t-shirt. May raise some eyebrows, you know.” She slid over picked up the drill and stood, zipping up, then pointed a finger.

“Not any more than those if somebody comes in here.” Torn panties. “As for eyebrows, or dicks being raised, not a concern.” I was ushered out, door closed behind. “You however.” The kitchen door was brought to my attention. “That’s what you need to worry about.”

“Yeah. And now I got Cathy to worry about, not about you giving me quite possibly the best blow job ever, but the fact she couldn’t watch.” That got a small roar out of mom.

“Yeah she is a watcher, but, she had plenty of time to spy.” The ache in my crotch was a testament to that. “Let’s go.”

There was a lot of yard to cross, steps to walk, porch to cross, and then face it. All cut and dry. Walk in, make some very sincere apologies, and accept the grace of forgiveness from my friends and family. Except that didn’t happen. Me and mom were both expecting ice-cold, pissed-off people looks. Instead, we saw Mary on the couch being consoled by Bonnie and Cathy, she was crying and shaken, Popoff had his arm around sob who looked nothing less than shell-shocked.

We didn’t have time to ask what the hell was going on before Misty, from the corner of the kitchen whispered us over, she’d been crying too. “Mary and sob’s landlord called. The storm… they lost their house, it’s flattened.” Mom lost little time in heading for Mary, I didn’t know what to do except get lost in the irony. Sob saying we need to do a fundraiser, helping the Thompsons.

Before all that though, earlier this day, something had caught my ear, now I wanted to know what that something meant. Misty’s arm was latched onto as she went to leave, “Hey, what did you mean by, We have an idea for our living problem’?”

She gave me a look for a few seconds. “My dad showed up, thankfully with nothing to back his story up with… ” Normally that would have brought the third degree down, I knew about dad, and right now her dad popping up just reinforced an inkling as to what living problems meant. She got a ‘and’ hand motion from me.

“Annnnd, your mom suggested we move into Cathy’s old room.”

Game-winning winning goal.

“FUCK-ING-A!! Listen, for now, I’m sorry about your dad, but that gives me an idea. I got a way out of Mary and sob’s problems, not all, but a roof overhead stuff.”

The attic was my goal and I took off lick-split.

“You wanna explain, and where are you going?”

Stopped just long enough to add:

“The more the Mary-er, and blueprints!”

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