Playing house with mommy

The nursery door creaked, a sound Mommy knew by heart all to well, like the first note of their private symphony. She didn’t turn from the window, letting the curtain brush her knuckles as she counted his footsteps. Eleven towards the rocking chair. Always eleven.

His diaper crinkled as he settled on the rug, stacking alphabet blocks with clumsy hands. Cherrywood scent clung to him; she’d bathed him in bergamot oil an hour ago, scrubbing beneath his arms with a loofah until his skin pinkened. Mommy knelt beside him, silk robe pooling like a waterfall around her. “Let’s play ‘House,’” she murmured, lips grazing the shell of his ear. Her thumb hooked around the waistband of his plastic pants as she gave a small tug.

He froze, a B block suspended mid-air, she peeled the padding of the diaper down. Cool air kissed his now exposed cock, already half-hard. Mommy hummed at the sight “Hush, Little Baby” while her palm cupped him, fingers exploring the vein branching beneath flushed skin of his growing half-hard erection. Shh… shh,” she soothed when he whimpered towards mommies exploring fingers, though his hips jerked greedily into her touch. The scent of arousal mingled with baby powder. Her other hand slipped inside her silk robe, circling a nipple gone pebble-hard with arousal at the sight of him.

He collapsed backward against her chest, head lolling back on her shoulder as she worked her hand on stroking his cock. Mommy watched their reflection in the standing mirror, his toes curling in white socks, her burgundy nails stark against his shaft. Pre-cum glistened on her thumb when she brought it to his lips. “Suck,” she ordered, soft as a lullaby.
Obediently, his mouth closed around the digit. She felt his tongue swirl, the same way he’d lapped at his bedtime warm milk earlier. The mirror caught the exact moment his eyes rolled back, a flutter of wet lashes as he came across her still-moving hand.

Mommy kissed the hollow beneath his jaw. “Good boy,” she breathed, licking pearly streaks of his release from her knuckles. His cock twitched weakly in her grip. Outside, dusk bled across the gardenias. Somewhere a dog barked. Neither noticed. She dressed him in fresh padding after their ‘playtime’, powder puffing over his still-hard groin. He nuzzled her neck, lips forming silent babbling words against her pulse. Mommy smiled, when the nightlight cast bunny shadows on the walls that night, she’d let him nurse at her breasts until dawn.

The blocks lay forgotten, B now bearing a secret etched in wood and want.
The nightlight glowed amber, casting her nipple in sepia tones as he latched on. Mommy carded fingers through his hair, sticky with sweat from their earlier ‘games.’ Milk dribbled down his chin when he unlatched, eyes heavy-lidded and relaxed. She caught the droplet with her little finger, offered it back to his mouth. His tongue curled around the digit, suckling with residual hunger. “Again?” she whispered.

He nodded against her sternum, hands pawing at her nightgown’s buttons. Fabric parted like curtains, revealing twin mounds of puckered flesh. This time he took the left, kneading her right breast as he nursed. Mommy arched into the touch, nails digging into the rocking chair’s arm.
His teeth grazed her areola, not the playful nip of infancy, but a man’s bite. She gasped, the sound swallowed by humid shadows. The rocking chair squeaked faster.

When dawn gilded the nursery’s wainscoting, they lay tangled in the crib, her nightgown thrown over the cribs rails. He slept with a hickey blooming beneath his ear, shaped suspiciously like her lipstick’s oval stain. Mommy traced it, smiling as first light caught the blocks below.

C for craving. D for devotion. F for the fables they’d never tell.