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Aaron, Cum For Me

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"Aaron, cum for me."

Aaron Mathews awoke in the dead of night, hearing those very words. Yet for all his recollection, he couldn't say for certain if he had heard them in his dreams or the real waking world. The voice had been so familiar, but try as he might, he couldn't place it. Whether a dream or not, his body was alight with passion. His lungs burning as if they had been laboring for breath. What the hell is going on?

He pushed himself upright, sweat clinging to him as he fumbled in the dark with a blind hand. He knew they were there, somewhere. He stretched further feeling his fingers brush against the cold familiar frames of his glasses. Rubbing his eyes, he put them on, finding little clarity in the dark space. Beside him, the green blur of his clock read 2:16am.

His eyes scanned the room, still trying to make sense of his surroundings. Only two weeks prior he had been in what was his apartment, and now he was back in the room he'd grown up in, though he hadn't slept in it for over three years. Very little had changed in that time. Same windows, same outlets, same arrangement of the furniture. Everything that had made it his was gone, or had yet to be put back again. His cardboard boxes of belongings sat in the shadows, still waiting. It was all so familiar, but at the same time, late at night, stumbling in the dark, it felt rather unsettling.

Anxious blood still hammered through his veins as he laid back down, sinking into the mattress. His eyes searched the ceiling as bits of his dream fell back into place. Images of lips and flesh, sweat and oil, moaning, grunting, gripping and pulling drifted around in an incoherent swirl. It had seemed so sudden: an incongruous shift from a desperate run through the forest one moment to the most primal sexual dream of his life. There was a woman; a woman without a name who suddenly was everything. Just he and she and their carnal activities. It had all been so passionate and drenched in need that not a word was said until the end, when the words "Aaron, cum for me," slipped from her mouth. Her voice was what awoke him, but he couldn't say why.

His hand had already found his erection, still rigid from the dream only a minute ago. Unconsciously he was already massaging it, stroking it until he was swept up in a more conscious state of arousal. Had he not been so lost in his private moments of bliss, he might have noticed that carried on the breeze as it drifted through his open window were the moans of his mother; her fingers slipping deep inside her vagina as she whimpered his name in ecstasy.

The night slowly turned to dawn and both parties woke, naturally this time, and went about their morning routine. They shared breakfast, though brief, before Aaron excused himself to get ready for class.

"Will you be home for dinner?" Claire, Aaron's mother, asked as she lightly blew on her steaming hot coffee. Her free hand held her robe closed as she looked at her son.

"Probably," he replied while opening the fridge. "My last class gets out at seven if that's not too late." He tried not to note how her robe hugged the curve of her hips and swell of her breasts.

"Fine by me." She set her cup down. "Aaron, you've been back for four weeks now, right?"

He nodded, biting into a large, red apple. "Some people would call it a month, but yeah that's about right," he mumbled.

She smirked at her son. "Thanks Smartass," she said while shaking her head, "You realize you've been a homebody the entire time?"

"So?"

"So," she continued, "Shouldn't you be out with your friends or meeting girls in a bar or something?"

"You mean like dating?" He took another bite.

"Well, yes."

Aaron tossed the core in the trash. "Mom, I can't get back into dating right now."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?" he asked. She responded with a blank look.

Aaron shrugged. "Okay, well for starters, I'm in my early twenties and living with my mother. Some girls find that a turn-off - I'm just saying."

"Oh that's not a big deal. Times are tough for everyone. I'm sure tons of people have had to move back home." She slurped her coffee. "Besides, the right girl wouldn't care about something like that. What else you got?"

He shifted. "Aren't you concerned it would interfere with school?"

She thought for a moment. "Honestly, I have my doubts. You're getting a degree in English Writing and your mother is a nationally renowned author." She winked. "Sounds to me like you've got an advantage, really?"

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "How's that supposed to help with Calculus?"

"Mm!" she moaned as she swallowed a large sip. "You've got a point there." She licked the coffee from her lips as she turned to the sink, pouring the remainder down the drain.

Aaron watched her rinse the mug. "You know... I could say the same for you."

"What's that?" she asked over the sound of the running water.

He took a breath. "Dad's been gone for over five years," he said. "Have you dated at all during that time?"

Claire cleared her throat. "Don't worry 'bout me. I've sowed my oats." She scrubbed at the mug, at the same spot over-and-over with her bare hands. "Besides, I've got my writing. It's the last chapter, you know."

"And when it's done?"

She hesitated. "Then I'll start the next book."

Aaron stared at her back as she continued to clean the mug. "Sure Mom. And the world will keep on spinning..." Aaron turned and ran up the stairs.

His mother's voice followed after him saying, "Bestsellers don't come easy!" He couldn't help but smile.

That evening they had their dinner: a nice lasagna, homemade and delicious. Aaron produced a bottle of wine he had picked up on his way back, and they dined royally. Then, with full bellies and a bit tipsy, they shifted to the living room, leaving the plates on the table and the kitchen in shambles.

Although he had been there for weeks now, this was the first time they had really sat down and talked; enjoying each others' company for what it really was. Had anyone walked by they would have thought that this was a conversation between two long-lost friends and not mother and son. Laughter filled the air as Aaron shared his recent exploits. For Claire, the past few years had been far less eventful, yet she'd been busy in her own way.

Five months after the divorce, Claire had turned to a passion she had not explored since college. She began to write with a fury she had never previously possessed. She would show her stories to her friends every now and again until one of them dared her to seek publication. As luck would have it, the story was accepted, published, and distributed across the nation almost immediately. The public latched on to her writings and she became a major hit. Her name was heard in tea parties and talk shows from San Diego to London. After a year of her success Aaron left home knowing she would do well enough on her own.

Three years later, Claire released her gem; His Fiery Touch. It held the #1 Bestseller spot for a month straight and was on the Top Ten for four months after, thus fueling the crazed demand for her work. Her fans were devoted, sending only desperate pleas to release the next in the series; but for the first time there was a lengthy hiatus. Whether it was due to writer's block or just doubt, no one could say. Claire had been working on the 'last chapter' for the better part of a year. Aaron knew better than to bring it up.

"So, my dear," said Claire as Aaron opened a second bottle, "When are you going to get back out there and break some hearts?"

"Mom," said Aaron "I already told you..."

"I know Honey. It's just that I worry about you." He filled her glass, though her eyes were already glassy. "I mean you are a handsome man and I'm surprised they're not fighting each other just to get in your pants."

Aaron's cheeks flushed crimson, "Jeez, Mom."

"Oh. Sorry Hon. Was that too much?" She asked with a wide grin as she brushed her hair behind her ear, her own cheeks turning a shade to match.

"No, it's fine," he said. "Don't worry about it. I've heard you're much worse in your books."

Her eyes narrowed. "You've heard?" Claire grabbed a throw pillow and swung it at her son. "You little shit! I was wondering why you never asked. You haven't read my stories?" She repeated her swing, bashing him over and over again.

"Mom! Ouch, Mom, quit it!" Aaron cried as she continued her assault.

"No! You haven't read my stories!" she said as she struck her son across his chest. This time Aaron snatched the pillow before she could pull it back.

"Of course I haven't. I can't read about dirty things I know came from my mom." He said as she tried to the pillow from his grasp.

"They aren't my dirty things." She tugged. "They're my characters'. You can't expect me to be responsible for every naughty thing they do. That would be like me being to blame for all your dirty encounters." She relinquished the pillow, sinking back into her corner of the couch.

"Mom! Come on! There's nothing similar about that," he said chuckling.

"I made you too, didn't I?" she said with a smirk, "And here I thought you were all grown up."

"I am," he said while sheepishly adjusting his lenses.

"I'm so sure." She turned in her seat, slowly pulling her legs up onto the couch. Her eyes sparkled as she held the glass to her lips.

Her bare feet were tucked beneath the cushions beside Aaron, snuggling into the crevice for warmth, and, only for a moment, brushed past his thigh. Her contact brought Aaron's eyes down to her bare ankles peeking out of masterfully tailored slacks; slacks that perfectly accentuated her shape. His eyes traveled further - up to her red baby-doll blouse. The collar, running low, framed her breasts perfectly. Her long, black curly hair lightly bounced on her exposed neck as she tilted her head to the side staring back at Aaron quizzically.

Aaron quickly straightened both himself and his glasses. "What?"

She smiled. "Nothing," she said taking another sip. "I was just..." She tilted her head to the ceiling in thought. A thoughtful smirk crossed her lips. "I know which book you should start with," she said with a wide grin.

Before Aaron could ask, she spun around on the couch, digging her knees into the cushions and stretched over the armchair. Her fingers traced over the spines of soft- cover novels on the bookshelf. Aaron desperately tried to look away from her backside as she searched thoroughly, shifting her hips back and forth as she attempted to keep balance on the soft cushions. He tried not to notice the absence of a panty line, or how the intriguing movement of her cheeks stressed the fabric. He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of forbidden thoughts.

"Um, Mom?" he asked, looking over her rear. "Can I help at all?"

"Just a sec." Her fingers continued their search until, "Ah-ha! Got it!" She triumphantly turned around and plopped down into her seat. Her wine rocked in her glass spilling slightly over the edge and onto her hand. "Shit!" she said causing Aaron to chuckle slightly.

He couldn't help but find cuteness in her clumsiness. "Doesn't take much to get you drunk, does it?" he chuckled.

"What can I say? I'm a cheap date." She tossed a book to her son.

"What's this?"

She settled back into her seat. "One of my tamer ones."

"You wrote it?" He turned the book over. "Yup, there's your name. All big and gold."

"I wrote that... what was it... twenty-five years ago? I think so. It was one of the first I hammered out in college and had published two years back. Anyways, it's not nearly as dirty as some of the others, but I really like it." She tucked her feet back up on the couch, this time under herself.

Aaron was hesitant. "I don't know if I can read this, Mom. It's a little weird."

"Oh come on, Aaron." She laughed. "I thought I was supposed to be the prude."

"I am not a prude," he said.

"Okay honey." She leaned forward, gently patting the side of his face. "Then read mommy's story and let me know what you think."

Aaron sighed deeply. "Okay, I'll... try."

Claire smiled warmly. "Good" she said as she rose. "Hopefully it gives you some good material so you won't have to go eyeing your mom when you think she isn't looking."

Aaron choked on his wine as she walked out of the room.

As the days rolled by, life moved on. Claire continued her attempts to finalize her story, while Aaron kept his focus on his studies. Like a good son, he eventually got around to cracking the cover of her novel, and found himself curiously hooked - it was exciting, new, and sprinkled with humor; challenging and erotic, and surprisingly complex. Though he hid it from everyone, including his mother, he began to devour her entire series.

Night after night, Aaron would lie awake flipping feverously through the pages far past the time when the bars would close. There were times where the eroticism would get him so heated up he'd find himself unconsciously stroking himself. It wasn't long before they became his main means of sexual release. Her words were arousing - and this began to trouble him.

The way she spoke, her voice on the pages, her knowledge of sexuality and anatomy was alarming to poor Aaron. There were moments where he'd feel ashamed for being turned on by the words she used to describe her characters: how they looked, how they moved, how they felt, how they fucked. Some chapters - whole novels even -- were focused on fetishes that made Aaron blush realizing his mother knew all their naughty details. She knew a thing or two about sex, and wasn't afraid to share it.

Occasionally as he read, he would see past family experiences sneak in: descriptions of locations that echoed past vacations. The masculine villains as well as heroic and desirable heroes mirrored Aaron's father; sometimes in behavior, sometimes in appearance. Yet, no matter how many times he took note of her use of reality in her erotic literature, he was always shocked and nervous when he came across a character that resembled himself - and more so when the scenes turned explicit.

Though they seldom ran into each other during Aaron's fiction frenzy, he began to secretly see her in a way he had never acknowledged. She was, in fact, a living, breathing woman, far more aware of her own sexuality and its' meaning, and at the same time, fragile and in need of companionship; the same type woman he had found himself searching for. He couldn't help but watch her, mostly through the corner of his eye, when she was around. He'd watch how she walked. He'd marvel that the way she moved, how she shifted, laughed, and spoke seemed new.

"Aaron," Claire said, washing the dishes after dinner. "You're staring at me again."

"Sorry," he said as his face flushed bright red. He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. "I was just... never mind."

"Mm-hmm." She didn't turn around as she placed one plate to dry and grabbed another. "Did you finish the book?"

"Oh, yeah. Couple weeks ago." He walked to the counter and refilled his empty wineglass.

"Really? You didn't say anything."

"To be honest, I kinda' started reading the next one and... I finished them all."

She looked over her shoulder. "You're kidding?"

He shook his head.

She turned to him, drying her hands. "You read all of them?"

He nodded.

Her grin lightened her face. "My god you read fast."

Aaron shrugged. "Yeah, well they were actually..." clearing his throat, "... good."

She raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"What?"

"That throat thing? '...Actually...'" She cleared her throat in mimicry, "'...good.' Don't humor me if you didn't like them. I'm a big girl Aaron."

He began to chuckle. "No, Mom. It's not that. They were great, I swear. It's just they were very... okay this is kinda' weird but... they were very erotic."

Her grin returned, this time much wider. "They turned you on, huh?" She snickered.

"Jeez, Mom!"

Her chest swelled with laughter. "Baby, it's fine. Pour me a glass. I want to hear your critique."

Hours flew by as they sat in the living room closely sharing their thoughts and opinions about her work. The air was filled with laughter and warmth, though the wine, once again, may have been the cause.

"Aaron, I'm impressed. You really have a great eye for this," Claire said proudly as she admired the man her son had become. "I might have to keep you here as Chief Editor. Mine's still pissed at me." She unbuttoned the top latch on her blouse, completely casual.

"I did enjoy it," he admitted, trying not to notice the sheen of sweat between her breasts. "I think I've got a flare for editing more so than writing, to be honest."

"Well I'm sure I'd enjoy your work too," she said while she stretched her back, forcing her breasts tight against her blouse.

"Yeah," he said as he stole a glance. Claire, though feeling quite flattered, pretended not to notice this time.

"So Mom," Aaron began, "You haven't said anything about the new story. How's it coming along?"

She settled back into the couch and turned her eyes away from her son. "It's fine."

"Mom, look at me," Aaron said with a firm yet hushed voice. She turned to him, though hesitant. "I just devoured more chick-lit than I ever cared to know existed. I'm pretty sure I now know you better than most sons know their mothers." He held her eyes in his. "How's it really going?"

Claire looked deep into her son's eyes. She couldn't help but feel touched, warm, and welcomed. She took a deep breath. "Well, honestly... I've been at the climax, writing the same crap only different ways for six weeks now.

Aaron nodded. "When did your agent need it?"

"Two months ago," she said with a laugh. "I'm so fucked. I've got nothing."

Aaron nodded, knowing better than to comment on her cursing. "Okay, well, what's the problem?"

Claire shrugged. "Wish I knew. For all the rest of them, I had this heavy, fiery passion, you know?" She turned her slightly glazed eyes away, staring into the air. "I could just sit down, and hammer out something by pouring my needs into it. Just give it everything I had. All my frustrations, my desires, everything." She started to laugh. "Jeez, it used to get me so hot too." She turned to Aaron, "That's when you know you have something good: when it really turns you on. No matter how many times you read it, it always seems to get you."

"I can't even tell you how many nights I would just work myself up like a bitch in heat just so that I could unleash on those pages. The hornier I got, the better the work was. Oh it was torture. You'd have to work yourself into a sexual frenzy, but you couldn't relieve it. That's the most important part; you have to use every little bit of pure, unbridled lust. All those urges you get, you put them into your work. The moment you lose control and finish yourself off, your work begins to suffer. There's no heat in it after you've dosed your own. There's the rub... no pun intended."

Aaron chuckled with her, yet secretly he was more and more captivated. She seemed to ooze sensuality. Every move she made caused his blood to pump harder, coursing through him and steadily working its way south.

"That's the trick," she continued. "You can't stop when you get heated. You have to use it; use it I did. I had to keep my hands in check at all times. Had to keep them on the keyboard or they'd work their way elsewhere. Oh, it was so intense." Her breathing became deeper, more labored.

Aaron was mesmerized. His hand tightly gripped the cushion beneath him; his cock throbbing hard against his inner thigh as he watched his mother relive her moments of excitement. Her chest heaved, threatening to burst free of the blouse. The edges of her black bra peeked through the parted shirt. Her nipples were fully erect and trying to pierce the fabric. And her eyes - her deep, dark eyes were alight with a hungry fire. To anyone else, it would appear she had turned into a new woman; to Aaron, this was the woman he saw in her books. This was the author. Here was the woman who both excited and frightened him. Though something else now called to his attention; his erection had just reached full mast.

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