The Birthday Girl
by Marcia R. Hooper
Copyright© 2026 by Marcia R. Hooper
Last Wednesday was a red-letter day.
As always, Mom was waiting for me when I got home. I am a senior in college. I attend Towson State in Maryland. I go to school half a day, work half a day. Every day except Wednesday, that is, when I’m off.
“You’re early,” she said, shutting the front door behind me and setting the locks. She looked really beat. It’s been a bitch for Mom at work lately, especially now that she’s a partner. Mom is a lawyer.
“Your sisters all have things going on after school,” she said, unbuttoning her coat. “We have until four o’clock, maybe four-thirty. Tracie is staying over with Kristen tonight, and Katie said she’d call. That leaves Stephie and Anne Marie, and I’m just not sure about them. Can we go to bed now, please?”
Her frustration and impatience made me laugh. I hugged her very tight. She clung to me with unexpectedly fervent love, and her breasts flattened out against my chest.
Today she wore a three-piece skirt and blazer outfit, light gray with pinstripes and a white blouse underneath. The blouse showed off her bra. My cock hardened as she peeled back the coat, and I helped her out of it. When she made to walk away, I took her arm.
“Right here?” she asked, her smile both crooked and embarrassed.
“Right here.”
Removing her blouse myself, and then her skirt, I then lowered her pantyhose and helped her out of them. Her beige satin brassiere and panties were a matched set that I had bought from her Victoria’s Secret catalog. I had purchased five others.
“Let me,” I said, undoing her bra. It fastened in the front, and I slid it back over her shoulders and then kissed her breasts. For those of a thirty-eight-year-old single working mom, they sure were nice.
“Which one today?” I asked.
Smiling with embarrassment, she indicated her left nipple, and I attacked it with glee. I left a large, bruised purple hickey directly above it.
“You are such a scoundrel,” she said.
I laughed and kissed her left nipple again. It was hard and a very nice point.
Mom has the breasts of two different women. Her left one is noticeably smaller than the right, as are her aureole and nipple. Her aureole are also slightly out of skew with each other, the left one round and quarter-sized and the right one a long oval. It embarrasses her to death, but I like them that way. Her left breast, smaller and much more pointy, is so much fun to suck.
I slid her panties down to the floor and had her step out of them. Mom is dark-haired. She keeps her pubic hair nicely trimmed, regardless of the season. A one-inch-wide strip, two inches long, and stopping immediately above her clitoris, is the only protection she has.
Her lips and anus are bare.
Curling her lips in the same ironic smile, she asked, “Satisfied?”
“Never,” I said, cupping her left breast.
Mom is a naturally beautiful woman, “natural” meaning she needs no makeup to look good. With makeup on, she looks quite terrific. Five feet, five inches tall, and a hundred and thirty-five pounds, she has just the right figure for a woman her age. A little big in the hips maybe, and showing some spread across her tail, but exceptional for a mother of five.
Taking her by the hand, I led her into the kitchen to the refrigerator door. On the upper half was a chart, put up today by me, listing all our names: Rachel, Danny, Katie, Tracie, Stephie, and Anne Marie. Beneath each name is a column of check marks, indicating our chores for the week. The chores were listed to the left, in alphabetical order. Next to today’s date, in coding that only Mom and I understood, was a tiny dot-dot symbol made by the printer. I grinned.
“You are a smart-ass,” she said.
Dot-dot meant she did it in the living room. With the best chance of being caught. With all the windows open and the front door unlocked. That was my privilege. I set the rules.
I turned her to face me. I pushed her against the refrigerator door, and she jumped at the cold metal’s touch.
“Danny!”
I drowned her protestations with my tongue. She unzipped my fly. “Well,” I said, locking down at my cock. “Can’t wait?”
She stroked it and fought off a grin. “I had a bad day,” she reminded me.
“I like your bad days.”
Going to her knees, she looked up at me from my favorite position, placing her hands on her thighs. I fed her my cock. Her eyes stayed locked on mine.
“Good?”
“Mmmmm-ummmm.”
“Good,” I said, going in and out of her mouth.
Now, I may not be as hung as her boyfriend, Dave, but my seven and a half inches is just fine. It fits her mouth nicely and goes nicely down her throat. Since the first day she touched it with her lips, my cock has belonged to her.
Clutching the refrigerator door, I began to fuck her in earnest. I went down her throat and she gagged at first, as she always does, then got it under control. (There are times when she doesn’t get it under control and then I make her retch. Twice I’ve caused her to spit up in her hand, crimson-faced and leaking tears, which is kinda nice too.)
“We have to stop,” I warned her. I was beginning to pant. Fucking a woman in the mouth—especially your own mother—well, you know what that does to you. Especially when that woman keeps her hands obediently in her lap, I stopped after one particularly deep thrust. Gagging, she leaned forward and dry-heaved into her hands. Her eyes bled tears. “Daniel!” she croaked. “Come on!”
I stood back and laughed, making her color go really bright.
“Stop it!” she croaked. “It’s not funny!”
Oh, yes it is.
Taking her by the hand, I drew her up and led her coughing and hacking back into the front room. She half-walked, half-stumbled behind me to the chair. She couldn’t get her breath. Then, sitting her down, I put myself back in her mouth, and slowly began to fuck her. She kept her eyes looking up, still bright with tears, mucus leaking from her nose.
That sounds disgusting, but it really is not.
“Sorry,” I said, going back down her throat.
She made scolding noises and gagged.
“I know. I’m a thoughtless bastard.”
Holding her behind the head and beneath her chin, I forced her mouth all the way up my cock. She gagged multiple times and thumped my legs, but didn’t make me stop. Eventually, I had her nose and mouth in my pubic hair.
“You have it all now,” I let her know.
She made noises deep in her throat. Her hands gripped my knees. She became absolutely still. Looking at my watch, I pressed the button for the timer and said, “Now.”
Her record was two minutes and twenty-seven seconds, set just last week, and I hoped she’d beat it. She did, by almost ten seconds.
“Congratulations,” I exclaimed, finally setting her free. She fell back and violently inhaled, “Huhh! Huhh! Huhh!” and began to cough and choke. Saliva ran down her chin and strung sexily down to her breasts. She continued to gasp, her face a brilliant and beautiful red. She hit my thigh.
“Daniel!”
“What!” I said, suppressing a laugh.
She choked and she coughed. I laughed and it made her madder.
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