Chapter 87: A brand new day

I opened the door.

Evelyn was still in my shirt, standing at the sink with both hands on the edge, head down. The water was off. The lock was off. She looked up in the mirror and saw me, and she did not tell me to get out.

"You opened it," she said.

"You told me what would happen if I did."

"I told you not to unless you wanted last night again." Her voice was thin. "Close it behind you."

I closed it. The bathroom was small. Steam had not started. The light was the same hard white as before, and in it she looked softer and more wrecked than she had in the bedroom. Shirt off one shoulder. Bare legs. The tacky trail on her thigh. Marks on her hip that the mirror showed her even when she tried not to look.

"Cold shower," she said, like she was still giving the order from the other room. "That was the plan."

"You’re not in it."

"I was going to be." She turned around. The shirt hem sat high on her thighs. "Then I said that stupid thing through the door, and I stood here waiting to see if you were still obedient or if you were still my son from last night. You picked."

"You didn’t lock it."

"I know what I did." She wet her lip. "Towel off. If we’re doing this, mommy is not going to pretend it’s a shower and then slip. We slipped already. Come here."

I dropped the towel.

Evelyn’s eyes went down and stayed. I was half hard from the door, from her voice, from the fact that the house was empty and she had said she would not tell me to leave. She looked at it the way she had looked at the mess leaving her. Not shocked. Taking stock.

"Still tired," she said. "Good. Last night used you. This doesn’t have to be the same. Come here and put your hands on the sink. Behind me. Don’t put it in yet."

I stepped in behind her. The sink was cool under my palms, on either side of her hips. My cock rested against the curve of her ass, skin to skin, the shirt bunched between her shoulder blades where she had reached back and pulled it up. She watched us in the mirror. I watched her watch.

"See?" she said. "This is different. Last night I was under you. This morning you can see my face while you stand there and behave."

"I’m behaving."

"You’re hard against my ass. That’s not behaving. That’s waiting. Waiting is allowed." She reached for the tap and turned it on, warm, and wet a cloth. "Hold still. Mommy’s going to clean what I couldn’t reach."

She bent a little. The shirt rode higher. I saw the swollen softness of her, still flushed, a gleam at the slit that was not water. She wiped the inside of one thigh, then the other, slow, and when the cloth passed over her pussy she hissed and gripped the sink.

"Sore."

"Should I stop touching you?"

"You’re not touching me. I am." She rinsed the cloth and brought it back, gentler. "Last night you filled me until it ran out. This morning there’s only a little left. I’m getting rid of it so I can think. Don’t grind. If you grind I will lose the thought."

I did not grind. I stood with my cock pressed to her ass and my hands on the sink and I watched her clean herself in the mirror. Each pass of the cloth made her breath shorten. When she was done she dropped it in the basin and stayed bent, dripping, looking at my face over her shoulder.

"Ask," she said. "Properly. Not a recitation. One thing you want this morning. If I say no, you shower cold and we have coffee. If I say yes, you do only that."

"I want to put it in," I said. "Just the head. So I can feel if you’re still open."

Evelyn closed her eyes.

"That’s a filthy way to say it."

"You told me to ask."

"I did." She reached back, found me, and stroked once, wet from the cloth, loose and shaky. "Head only. If you push past it, I will stop you. Mommy is sore, Lucas. This is not last night. This is you checking. Say you understand."

"I understand."

She guided me down. The head kissed her, hot and slicker than the cloth had left her, and she sank back an inch. Just the head. Her pussy took it with a small wet sound and then tightened, sore and willing at the same time. In the mirror her mouth opened.

"Hah..."

"You’re still open."

"I know." Her voice shook. "Don’t move. Let me feel the stretch. God. Even the head is a lot this morning."

I stayed. The rest of me throbbed against her ass, denied. Her heat wrapped the tip and fluttered, a tired little grip, and a fresh slickness gathered around the seal that had nothing to do with what she had wiped away.

"You’re getting wet again," I said.

"Don’t announce it." She looked at herself in the mirror, at the blush on her throat, at the place where my body disappeared into hers by an inch. "Stay like that. Mommy’s going to touch herself. You don’t thrust. If you come from this, you come. If you don’t, you don’t. The rule is the head stays where it is."

She slid one hand between her legs. I felt her fingers brush the shaft where it was not inside, then find her clit. She rubbed in small circles. Her pussy clenched on the head every time she hit a good pass. The mirror showed her eyes going heavy.

"This is cheating," she whispered. "I’m using you like a plug and calling it a check."

"You said head only."

"I did. And you’re listening. Good boy." The words came out broken. She rubbed faster. Her hips wanted to push back and she stopped them, thighs trembling with the effort. "Don’t help. If you help I’ll take all of you and we both know I shouldn’t."

I did not help. I watched her. The shirt had slipped off both shoulders and hung on her elbows. Her breasts moved with her breath. The head of my cock sat just inside her, squeezed, released, squeezed, while she worked her clit and tried not to fuck herself onto me.

"Lucas."

"Yeah."

"Tell me what you see."

"You. In the mirror. Two fingers on your clit. My cock only a little inside. You’re dripping on my shaft. Your legs are shaking."

She moaned, short, and the grip on the head went tight.

"Again. Filthier. Mommy wants to hear it while she comes like this."

"You’re holding me in so I can’t slip out. Your pussy is sucking the head. You’re wet enough that if you sat back you’d take all of me. You said not to. So I’m watching you get yourself off on just the tip."

"Hah... yes... like that..."

She came against her own fingers, a sharp little climax, pussy fluttering around the inch I was allowed. A warm pulse of slick ran down my shaft. She bit her lip and kept rubbing through it, smaller circles, drawing it out, and I felt every squeeze try to pull me deeper. I held the sink and did not give it to her.

When it eased she was panting. Her hand stayed between her legs. She looked at me in the mirror, wrecked and almost smiling.

"You didn’t thrust."

"You said not to."

"I know what I said." She eased forward. The head slipped out with a wet kiss. She shuddered at the loss. "That’s the morning version. Not last night. You checked. I came. We’re going to shower now, actually shower, and you are not going to put it back in while the water is on. If you behave through the shower, mommy will let you finish. With my hand. Not inside. I can’t take you inside again today."

"Okay."

She turned the water hotter and stepped in, then looked back, shirt still half on, clinging where it had gotten wet.

"Well? In. Towel stays out. Hands where I can see them until I say otherwise."

I stepped in behind her. Water ran over both of us. She peeled the shirt off and dropped it in the corner of the tub, and for a moment she was just my mother, bare, marked, sore, with her back to me and the steam hiding the mirror.

She reached back, found my wrist, and placed my hand on her stomach. Not lower.

"Hold it there," she said. "Wash my shoulder with the other. If your hand goes between my legs before I move it, the handjob is gone. Mommy is teaching you the difference between last night and this morning. Learn it."

I washed her shoulder. Water ran down her spine and over my wrist. My cock rested against her ass again, harder now, and she let it, but she did not reach for it yet.

"After the soap," she murmured, "you can ask for my hand. Not before. And Lucas?"

"Yeah."

"If you ask sweetly, I’ll do it slow. If you ask like you did at the sink, I’ll do it until you make a mess on my stomach and then I’ll make you watch me wash it off. Choose before the soap is done."

The water beat down. Her hand still covered mine on her stomach. The soap was in the dish, untouched, and the choice sat between us with the steam.