Chapitre 2052: MOM'S LAPSE TO DEPRAVITY
Kahumbu had shown enthusiasm for jogging, she really wanted to start keeping fit, but she had no motivation for it. Naturally, she's a born pessimist. She always had misplaced excuses to procrastinate.
She's quite a modern woman in a conservative society. She's a Kenyan living in the suburbs of the metropolitan area of Nairobi. People in her neighborhood were a sexist civilization. There were traditional customs on social, behavioral conduct on how the population carried itself, in variation to gender. So, taking counsel of the years, at her age wearing leggings for a jog in public was impractical. It was completely awkward and she could not make any sense of it.
Kahumbu is in her early 40's and was never married. It was one of those choices in her life that she couldn't fathom if she was right or wrong. Normally, she didn't like thinking about it. Over time she has had a faded taste for men.
She's a single mom to an adult son to whom she down-played efforts to let him fly off the nest. She was covetous of him and would find herself maliciously manipulative, if that need arose to keep him home. It was her way of cushioning herself against parental emptiness nest syndrome.
Kahumbu was an orthopedic clinician at the prime of her career. The chapter that followed immediately after college was very challenging, her admission into the corporate world was diffused in serial accounts of setbacks. Her trade was one dominated by men and unlike present times, a job hunt was an engagement filled with harassment, inequality and misogyny. The empowerment for women was not guided on merit, it was either appraised through buyouts in bribery or demands in sexual favors in exchange for employment. The latter was common and with it came bedevilment for those who acceded to it.
Itange; her son had no father or rather his dad was a deadbeat parent. His father was her former boss; 22 years ago and whom also fired her unceremoniously after she exhibited early pregnancy discomfitures. That was her penance for acquiescence to sexual coercion; a phase in her life that made her dissociate from her sense of self which resulted from both memory and identity disturbances. The lessons she learnt from experiences distilled from stereotyped prejudice and discrimination against women, stemmed her to radical feminism for reasons construed in both personal convictions and self acceptance, subsequently making her lack any enticement to accommodate a man.
She had a few entanglements in her life, fewer than most unmarried women her age. Every previous relationship being a different experience bound in prior infatuations followed by frustrations that overcame it's merit finally falling apart. Some ended in happy endings, but still not satisfactory enough to let her settle down. In all conscience or rather to focus on parenting, she took a break from courting men.
* * * *
It was on a Saturday evening, she was rummaging her house for an outfit to jog in. It was a tedious task in that she didn't find anything appropriate to wear among the clothes piled from an overturned wardrobe. She was not one who wore trousers often and the only pair that came close was a bell bottomed jeans that she owned.
Itange was seated next to her and he refuted that Idea. She also knew she couldn't jog in them; they would make her fall down.
"Mum, how do you expect to jog in those?" He asked, rhetorically.
She resigned to hold off having momentarily ran out of options. Suddenly, he dashed out of her bedroom as she was placing items back in the wardrobe. He was quick and she didn't realize that he was gone until he came back with a labored breathing. He was holding his joggers.
Kahumbu looked backwards to where he stood, startled by the thinking of her son. She smirked and asked.
"Do you intend that I...?" She paused. "Ha-ha, it can't be." She busted out quite loudly.
Despite being liberal and contemptuous of ethnic norms, she was still reserved to cultural relativism. It was taboo for mothers to share clothing with sons, notably those past adolescence.
"C'mon! I rarely wore it; it's fairly new." He tried to sound convincing.
"Mh-hmm." She nodded, thinking out loud, affirmatively.
From a revised mind-set, she opted to keep a contemporary perspective. Moreover, it was more of gratuity than sharing.
Itange stepped closer to her, holding those joggers against her waistline, stretching them down-along to her foot ankle. It was surely fitting.
"It's yours now; my gift to you!"
"Ooh-la-la! Okay."
She felt excited, the excitement one feels in redeeming hope. Finally, she had found an outfit to exercise in.
She took the said joggers, unpredictably lifting her polka dotted dress above to her thighs to wear them. The hem of her dress was inches below her butt, swinging loosely while she fitted in. As she pulled the joggers' elastic waistband up above her hips to the waist, her underwear became more revealing. Her panties were white, tightly held to her pelvis revealing a camel toe with a wet lining along her 'sandal gap'.
Itange felt a cold chill run down his spine as his barrel chest expanded without exhalation. She seemed unconscious of his presence as he stood before her. Kahumbu didn't realize her misgivings sooner as she reasonably thought her dress buffered that view from her son. She happened to have unknowingly underestimated that moment until she saw her son's face frowned. His eyes had become watery, a natural involuntary reaction for being nonplussed.
"Ew! No-o-o-o...tell me you didn't see that, uhm?" She inquired of him, pointing timidly through the gap between her legs, making it emphatically specific on her reference.
"Drop it mama!." He exclaimed. "It was just a white flash."
"Aw!" She uttered in a tone to gist apathy.
Inwardly, she felt overpowered and hushed, chiding herself to a shied low self esteem.
The next morning she rose from bed quite early than normal. She intended to make a full circuit before the neighborhood roused. After much convincing, she was to start exercising with her son for being a pair, made her feel secure in the partial penumbra of the dark-gray clouds of that dawn.
She wore the same joggers Itange gave her with a sleeveless tank top. To keep comfortable and reduce heat stress, she ought not put on a bra. Her breasts felt heavy, having a wide-set with a curvature lifting up against gravity to show her nipples in a bony protrusion through her top.
The two met in the corridor leading to the gate and so they begun. Itange was swifter than her. He would sprint, run and at times turn around and jog backwards for her to catch up with him.
Kahumbu's pace was fairly steady; short, slow steps, but she was determined to complete the lap. She was not certain how long she had to carry on but rather drew inspiration from her pacesetter; Itange, until her body would take no more.
The terrain was rugged. It was not a conventional track, but rather, a cross-country trail with not direct routes. The landscape was rocky strewn with dewed Rhodes grass. Every end of the flight phase of her stride was a thud made against the hard ground as she ran, sending shock waves back to her feet. A paresthesia prickling from a nerve compression gave in to neuropathic pain which deterred her endurance.
She suddenly stopped to recollect, standing with her arms supported on her knees. A shortness of breath had nearly knocked her down. She wheezed loudly as her lungs constricted. From her timer, she was an hour and half into the run.
Itange reversed to come to her aid. He pulled her across the path, through a short thicket and made her sit on a weathered sedimentary rock. She became herself once more, calming down as she rested. To fritter away time and elude boredom, they contrived on gossip chit-chat, made flattery and borrowed motivation from each other as they basked in the rising sun. They both laughed at her imperfections as she admitted that running was a strenuous activity that her small fragile heart could not assimilate easily. She was so forthright about her shortcomings, that it was hard to chastise her.
It was time to return home. They had a long walk ahead of them. She declined to run back; it was an insurmountable task to pace herself to run or jog in the glare of the morning sun. The surrounding area was desolated but she knew it would not be for long. She didn't intend for any of her neighbors to see her dressed the way she did; kindred as an unruly gamine.
As she stood up, she felt an involuntary convulsive movement with a soft numbing sensation on her jutting lower abdomen. The urge to relieve herself was rapidly building up and she was definite she would not reach home in her condition. The main road was still deserted and it acquainted a chance that she was not about to lose.
"Itange!" She called. "Watch the road for me please."
Her request was ambiguous to him, but as he looked back to where she was, he now understood her reason.
Kahumbu was about to squat, her thumbs on both hands were deeply sunk into the inner elastic waistband of her panties, plugged against that of her joggers as she pushed down in a twin inclusion of both garments in coherence.
She was not quick in motion, it was not a free fall. Those joggers were skin-tight along the concavities of her hip-lengths. It was a man's clothing and was unconventionally structured in her body as a woman.
As she repressed down in a jagged cyclic motility, Itange sunk in an emotional confliction against the sense to refrain. The window to digest an aptitude for responsibility for what he was about to see swiftly lost as she held her panties crossed along her knees. The scene of her thighs with a bared groin made him yield to temptation.
Kahumbu was naive to her surroundings, neither mindful, nor bothered to her unintentional infliction of emotional distress to her son. She strode her feet, shoulder width apart, squatting down with her hips below the knees with a following of a soft pour. He watched as a yellow stream of urine left between the two mounds of her labia, steaming in a dipping intonated whistle as it hit the ground with a splash. The moment became so intense for him. It arose an emotional state that made him lose perception for being sexually excited towards her as a woman.
She looked over to where he stood, to insist on him to keep to the task that their surroundings were still empty with no other road users around, but to her astonishment, she locked eyes with him.
"You can't be peeping at your mum, sincerely." She scolded, short of expectation.
Kahumbu was not angry, but she kept a mild facial expression to show him that he placed her in an odd position. He reluctantly turned away to give her a sense of falsified privacy.
Itange held an erection, a soft boom unfolding in his pants. He also felt an urge to relieve himself, for he also knew urinating would also cut his erection lose.
He found himself a spot, a stump of a fallen tree, a stone-throw distance from her. His back shielded her vicinity as he shot the contents of his bladder against the bark of the tree.
She finished sooner, before him, rising up with her butt extended backwards. She folded her thumb and index fingers to a pinch and squeezed the twin pleats of flesh forming her labia together, making the last drops of urine stream in a broken lineage. Thereafter, she dressed up and paced herself slowly behind his back, ostensibly as if tip toeing in her 'converse' shoes. In a spur, riddled in a session lacking modesty, she stood beside him sighting at his nudity.
"It's my turn now... ha-ha-ha." She said to him, laughing altogether in mockery.
She moved forward to face him, momentarily standing akimbo in front of him to subtle his ego.
"A-a-a-a-h! Mama, what the fuck! You're very indiscreet?"
"Alas, payback's a bitch, dear... I thought to remind you that."
"You never spoke that way before."
"I too never heard you use the F-word while talking to me." She retorted. "People change... Finish up, we go!"
"Am almost."
They headed home, it was about two miles from their last stop. On arrival, she was drenched in perspiration causing her irritation due to salts and dirt. She was first to bathe as he followed later.
They ate breakfast and parted thereafter. She left for her room to take a nap.
She woke up at around noon. It was really hot inside. The heat from the sun had filled her room, sending her into a delirium. Her back was heavy and as she rose from her bed, spasms of pain spiked from her spine down her tailbone to her legs. Her walking was limped as she dragged herself to draw the windows open.
A breeze from a Bougainvillea scrub canopy gushed through to her room. It was alleviating as it calmed her mild headache, cooling her as the sweat dried on her skin. She stretched herself to counter the effects of fatigue while walking slowly out to the backyard corridor of her cottage, concurrently as she robed herself in a kanga garment.
She sat on a settee in a shade with her head rested high on it's arm's length, extending her feet up on the other arm to proportion her body asymmetrically. It was easier that way, it gave her comfort and a view of her body from her bust to the tips of her feet. She felt glorified in her own adoration. As she inhaled, her breasts would lift high, her nipples pointing up in a protrusion oriented in an outwardly sided manner. It made her feel sexy with an elated sexual gratification, giving her a chance to reminisce in anemoia about the things she missed in her womanhood. She became aware of her body's reaction to stimuli as her bosom mounded upwards rubbing her teats in friction against the polymeric fabric of her camisole, it sent a tickle prodding to her nervous tissues. It was sensational and she loved it. It felt amending emotional gaps previously long lost in taste
She hadn't felt that way this in years. Her mind flashed back to the events that unfolded that morning. The recurrence of that memory was involuntary and she didn't want to stop thinking about it either. She contemplated that moment as he furtively stole a glance at her as she held low in a squat with her womanhood bared. She felt subjugated in mannerism as shown in a BDSM eroticism play.
Her thoughts made her wet and feel wanted, she cherished being claimed again. The imagery picture of her son dribbling his penile shaft to break away from her view as he shot his piss to splash on a tree's bark, made her tingle along her genitals. She was titillated to become horny.
Her memory flow was disarrayed by occasional bouts of intermittent body aches. The lactic acid build-up in her muscles was painful, excruciating whenever she made movement. It made her sluggish and could not perform her house chores as she intended.
Her day became wasted. It was already evening and she hadn't lifted from that balcony.
Itange brought her an analgesic ointment that she had requested of him to fetch from a shelf in the washroom. She insisted that he massage on her spinal cord down her femoral and sural factions to the strained tendons of her feet for she was unable to do it herself.
She broke the knot of the kanga clothing to swing it loosely on her waist, pulled up her camisole and turned her bared back to lay on her belly. Itange followed to rub the ointment on her vertebral column.
"Mum, the rest can't be done with this garment rolled around you." He blurted out.
"Am in my undies, Itange". She cautioned. "I can't have you see me in them again. It's imprudent."
"Hush!" He cut her off. "You're a millennial woman, lose that conservative attitude." He continued.
"M-m-m-h! So you say." She said, expressing doubt.
"I've already seen what there was to be seen, ha-ha."
"Why do you take such an insolent temerity while you're talking me?" She reproved to caution his rash temperament. "For goodness sake, am your mum... not your girlfriend."
"My apologies, mum. I was joking... sorry."
"All right! I will forget that... but only for today." She scorned, approving reluctantly, as she drew open the flaps of the kanga garment to disrobe.
"Try adding some glycerine to the ointment, son." Kahumbu opinionated in a soft voice.
She positioned her legs relatively apart, stilled from motion as his oily palms slid on her skin along the lengths of her legs in the posterior.
She tensed and her heart beat faster every time he touched her thighs inwardly just about her gluteal area. It felt so humid within the bands of her underwear. Her pubic was dripped, the mounds of her labia softened in moist with an outflowed watery ooze from her vaginal orifice. It soaked her panties' gusset extending to the linen on her arse and as she turned to have her thighs massaged in anterior, patches of wetness showed through to her camel-toe.
He had spited her femininity for a response in libido aggravation for a period so long in time wasted in sexual depravation. It was a fair compromise for her to give in as she was only human to react to stimuli the way she did.
Kahumbu felt broken in partiality for the choice she was about to make in iniquity; it was unnatural for a mother to hoard sexual excitement at the compulsion of her son. She took comfort in the acknowledgement that he was an adult and nothing happening between them was under duress. She was then due to let the events unfold unbiased lacking coherence if she would have conceded at the denouement of the play.
She closed her eyes to virtually block herself from him with the intention of holding herself in denial against her maternal correlation to him and to instill upon herself a falsified moment of eroticism with a replica of another lover.
She opened her thighs again, carelessly wider as if to let him in. Every glide on her skin, spiked a sensation of heat.
Itange was very conscious of the happenings around him. He too had been taken by lust. His erection rose, longing through his shorts and got tighter against an already stretched penile girth as his hands played to squeeze the muscles neared to her crotch. Her panties limited the furthest parts that he could stroll with his fingers and he dared for her consentient to feel that part too. He was timidly shy and for that reason, common sense outwitted the vanity of desire.
Itange performed his role, holding himself to discretion until he finished.
She thereafter rose to refresh herself in a cold shower.
Dusk came rather sooner hovering an envelope of darkness and after taking dinner, they stepped out at around 20:00 hours and headed to a local pub.
She was a functioning alcoholic. Normally, if she was under pressure, she would take a glass or two of wine. For Itange, beer was recreational with no limitation unless it placed him under budget. Kahumbu needed to reflect on herself, judge her character as a woman and criticize her intentions with her son as a mother. She could only lower to the realities of her plight when under the influence. Not drunk, but just enough booze to roll her head to a spin.
As she sipped between thoughts, she gazed at her Itange, who was then playing pool game with his acquaintances.
It was noisy, music was loud, people cheering a football match on TV, others dancing and also the shouting of men in a drunken stupor.
What caught her attention was an argument at the pool table between opponents who played unfairly against each other. She knew nothing good comes from situations like that and she feared for his son not to get involved. Suddenly, she heard Itange's voice. It was pitched in a rising intonation and it felt authoritative. She could see fellow men halt their commitments to listen to him and he drove more than half the crowd to his perspective. He finally judged that both be disqualified and so it was. The crowd cheered.Her boy was no boy no more, She thought in a internal monologue. He looked very distinguished.
Itange was not heavily built, he was an ordinary young man with no special talents, but he scored proficiently in psychosocial skills. He was exceptionally intelligent and she admired that.
That admiration bore chemistry.
Kahumbu tried to mentally reorganize her sentiments in an easier way that she could herself absorb. She wanted to be laid, something that pulled her closer to him to find a connection. She was slowly falling in love with her son, a sentiment that kept her unsettled.
Why wouldn't she find herself another man? Loving him that way was sinful and it made her feel wicked.
To bring another man to her home would make her seem promiscuous and she would be the talk in town. Senior bachelors at her age-set were uncommon and for an older woman dating a young man in his youth would indict hasher rebuke and undue criticism. She was also not certain how Itange would take it either. Presumptively, single women were renowned husband snatchers. To a great extent that argument was truthful.
Spiritually, at any point through her life, she never felt righteous, there was always to be an act that would draw her back to sin. Either way, through thought or actual act. There was always something to atone for every Sunday.
It gave her a conviction that she had always been a sinner; whichever way she looked at it, and in that surreal confluence of lust and immorality, the intuition to remain motherly vanquished for she wanted to taste that what was forbidden. She knew that he would not pass the curtains of her seduction.
Kahumbu swallowed her last sip. It was a serving from her third flute and she would drink no more.
As she settled her bill, she signalled him that she was about to leave.
They exited and as she strolled down the staircase from where the pub was located, she felt as if on a free fall resigned to the pull of gravity as she led away in a confusing state of stupor . She tripped nearly about to roll down when he swiftly lifted her up against his shoulder.
"I gotcha mama." He said, in a positive declaration for refuge as he pulled her closer by clamping his left arm along her waist.
Her body's stimuli rejuvenated, recycling her emotions again. He exhaled, the warm breath hit her neck, charging the already ticking emotional implosion.
"I love you son." She began a conversation.
"I know you love me... mum, I love you too." He repeated after her affirmatively.
"Say that again sweetheart." She whispered in his left ear. That tone broke whatever reluctance that was left in him.
"Hug me baby, I need that warmth... like right now." She insisted.
They stopped in an alley marooned in the shadows of the lofty apartments that surrounded them against the crescent moonlight. The neighborhood was quiet. It was the dead of night.
She turned herself to face him, lifting her elbows, shoulder-high and rolled herself on him.
"Am in love with you baby." She was soft spoken. "... make me feel like a woman once again". She continued.
Firmly pivoting her palm against the nape of his neck, she faced him again, her eyes illumed in teary sparkles of lust, giving him a transparent clairvoyance to a soul writhed in sexual tension. She kissed him, squeezing her soft lips between his. It was a temptation scored against his virility as a man, to stoke unrevised emotions in him. She became irresistible.
The moment was self indulging, the chronology of their actions happening almost borne from reflex. It was heated.
He caressed her, holding her tight with one hand along her loin as the other one tore through her blouse, squeezing hard her breasts in a cyclic motion. He progressively then pegged her against the wall, lifted her skirt from her knees upwards between her thighs to her crotch. He cupped his palm on her mons pubis, mapping his fingers on her vulva and rubbed on her superficially protruded clitoris.
She screamed as she fostered an involuntary muscle convulsion in orgasm.
"Da-a-m-n! Mama... this is a public space."
"Take me home baby." She pleaded. "Go finish what you fuckin' started!"
He retreated to take a breather allowing her also to gasp for air.
They walked holding hands, cutting short between steps to kiss again as they headed home.
He unlocked the door upon arrival at home. She pulled him to kiss him again, breaking him loose yet again as if to tease him. But no, teasing seemed to subtle the real thrill. Foreplay was out of taste for the feeling she intended was a dousing whack for an agitating sexual urge. She wanted him to fuck her already.
She took him by his hand, pulling him behind as she led to her bedroom.
"Put them down, sweetheart." She told.
She stripped herself and stood bared before him. The room was dimly lit with a light-shade beside her bed. She then laid herself on her bed, legs opened to a vertex with her knees lifted up. He stood above her on all fours, kissing her while she slipped her hand slowly to hold his erection.
"Baby, put it in." She said, guiding him inside of her.
Itange had a wide penile girth with crooked veins along its length and even in maturity at her age, she felt quite stretched as he made insertion in coitus. He engraved striations of flesh on the walls of her womanhood as his thrust stretched the elasticity of her vulva vestibule to its limits. It was quite intolerable and she screamed in a fainted bellow.
"oh-h-h! , goddammit son!"
She rose her feet above his lumbar region, entangling them together, seemingly locking herself to him. She forcibly exerted him downwards using the calves of her legs to sink him deeper inside. The peen of his dick hit her cervical wall and she sunk into an enchanted predilection.
"Hold on there baby."
She sounded like a bee drowning in its own sap of honey. This was not the kind of sweetness you derive from sucrose.
He rigidly held still, weighted on her to maintain the same missionary posture for a while. It gave her a sensation of pressure on her cervix, yielded from a body mass suspended on a pivot which was rooted in her.
Inside of her felt warm like a preheated oven as he soaked himself. It spurred a phase for saturation with a somatosensory feel for a waterlogging. He then stroked in her, now that her pussy had dilated and she dashed in a daze.
"That way ... son." She affirmed
The itchy sensitivity along the membrane of her vaginal wall was fading. Her breathing became enhanced, with every thrust birthing heat waves along the same membrane. Her body stiffened with her back bowed upwards, fingers stretched from her palm clawed into the bed sheets.
Itange was in momentum, ramming her in a pendulum swing hastened to a tidal implosion of orgasm as she climaxed. Subdued in sexual euphoria, she squirted, gushing out a stream of cum in a torrent.
"Ah-h-h-h-h! Son, you're the best."
She turned him over, it was her turn to ride on him. Clenching the root of his penile shaft, she manned it to insertion again as she sat on him with the weight of her body falling on him. She extended her bosom forward, laid low that her breasts fell on his chest in embracement and began to hump, copulating along the length of his dick in its entirety.
She took a deep breath, contracted her pelvic floor roughing up his dick while still in coitus to a rugged suckling. A thick, vicious white mucosal secretion sipped down her vulva as she worked herself harder.
Everyone has a breaking point and his came tumbling down in throes sequentially versed in orgasms. He blew his load inside of her just as she lifted to pull from him.
"Baby, no-o-o-o!" She squealed. "You shouldn't have done that!" She continued, cluttering in an erratic rhythm. "Jeez! A baby bump borne of incest."
"I couldn't hold it any longer... It was beyond me."
"M-m-m-h, Ok. You've had your way."
She embraced him in conclusion.
"Remember, this is a secret between us... If you always want some again, keep it to yourself!"
She cautioned as she left to clean up.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone