Unspoken Pleasure (erotica)

Maybe this is weird, but my mother was my best friend. Of course, that wasn't always the case. In my teenage years I have to admit I was a nightmare, but once I hit my twenties she was the one that was still there (high school friends are just that... 99 percent of them fade away as soon as you graduate... Facebook being an effective way of pretending you're still friends).

Mom and I do a lot together: shop for clothing, get pedicures and manicures and so forth.

So since I'd grown up I'd told her everything, and unusually for a parent she never judged, just wanted to know more. So she knew very well that my sex life had become dormant, and she knew I was very frustrated about it. "Did you ever try a chocolate stick in college?" Mom asked.

"No," I admitted.

"Well, maybe it's time," Mom teased.

"Mom, I'm telling you this to help me control my temptation, not to light sparks in it," I said, shaking my head. Although it wasn't all that odd for our talks to get sexual if we drank, we mostly indulged in generic bitching about the lack of attention and sex we each received. Although at first I had to get past the preconception that discussing with her what it was like to have sex with my dad was really weird.

"I'll be honest," Mom said. "All the best sexual encounters in my life have included chocolate."

"Oh my God!" I gasped, our talk today getting much more sexual than our usual complaining.

"What?" Mom asked. "I love black cock. Is that a crime?"

I gasped. "In the South it pretty much is in practical terms."

"Yes, your grandfather is a very racist man," Mom agreed.

"As is Dad," I added, having listened to my parents discussing race on many occasions when I was growing up. Even as a child it was obvious to me they weren't on the same page about that. "True," Mom nodded, before she added, "which is why he doesn't know about my chocolate cravings."

"This is too much," I objected. This conversation was getting far more revealing than any of our previous ones. Now she seemed to be implying that even now she was doing more than simply craving chocolate. Was she opening her box? I felt uncomfortable asking.

"I used those exact words when I had over ten inches inside me," Mom smiled wickedly.

"Oh my God!" I repeated, even as my imagination betrayed me and I tried to visualise what ten inches would feel like... my husband wasn't even five! Luckily my vibrator, bought for me by Mom as a gift a couple birthdays ago, was seven inches and did a lot better job filling me up me than my husband did.

"I said that too," Mom quipped. "Over and over and over and..."

"I can't believe this," I said, even as I wondered how big Jake was. The bulge in his pants today had looked impressive, but it didn't really tell me much.

"That's what I said the first time I fished that massive monster out of his pants," Mom continued, clearly enjoying the conflicting play of emotions showing on my face. I didn't know whether to be scandalised, envious, or both at the same time. "I can't take this anymore," I said, covering my ears.

Mom walked around behind me, pulled my hands away and smiled, "That... I never said! In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed multiple orgasms without a single word of complaint."