Laundry

#Teen #Voyeur 12 mins ago

2000 words | 1 |5.00

By NotReallyAshamed Yeah. When you have a son of a certain age living with you, it’s kind of hard to avoid the fact that he’s masturbating every chance he gets. Ours must do it at least 10 times a day, LOL. I don’t know if you’d necessarily say he’s “addicted” to masturbation; I know I was pretty compulsive about it at that age, too, but I turned out OK, I think. My wife and I try our best to keep a straight face whenever he walks into the living room with slightly flushed cheeks 5 minutes after we heard the squeaking noises from behind his closed bedroom door. Of course he thinks we suspect nothing…

My wife does his laundry and told me that half the things in his hamper, his shorts and his tops and his sheets and even his pillowcases(!) are regularly stained with white splotches. Sometimes they’re even still sticky. She commented wryly that he seems to think that anything tossed in the hamper just magically gets clean without every being touched by human hands or seen by human eyes. She likes to sort laundry by colors and read the care labels and other fancy stuff like that, so the sprog’s residual emissions all get the once-over.

One day she showed me a dark T-shirt of his with multiple stains in a straight line from the waist to the neckline. We had a good laugh together marveling at the sheer force and quantity of ejaculation necessary to leave a pattern like that. I remember joking that it must have been after a dry spell – maybe he’d only jerked off 5 times that day instead of 10.

The funny thing is that we both got kind of turned on talking about it. My wife is as much of a perv as I am and I recognized the signs of arousal, so since we were in the laundry room I made the excuse that I might as well put my clothes into the washer too and, on cue, she jokingly suggested we try to match the sprog’s record. That led to the two of us sitting next to each other on the laundry table with our pants off, masturbating. My wife was sitting on a dirty sheet and I still had my T-shirt on. The idea (not that we really discussed the rules in detail; we think alike, we didn’t have to!) was that I’d try to come as high up on my shirt as I could, and she’d try to squirt as far down the sheet as she could, and also we’d each try not to come first.

After a while I was getting close and, not wanting to finish first, I played a dirty trick – I took the sprog’s dirty T-shirt and stuffed it, cumstains first, right into her face. She gasped and couldn’t help taking a deep breath, then made a funny noise and started moaning and breathing hard, so I held the shirt against her face, forcing her to breathe in our son’s scent. Giving up the attempt to be come second, she decided to go for distance and frigged herself to a tremendous splashy finish. When she was done, there was no question that the wet splotches on the sheet went far further than the stains on our son’s shirt; indeed they went further than the length of my own shirt, so I declared her the winner, no contest.

Of course she wasn’t going to let me get away with this and grabbed the sprog’s shirt and stuck it into my face. I pretended to struggle and fight it but, to be honest, I was too turned on to be turned off, if you know what I mean. I breathed through the sweaty shirt and pretended to be helpless as my wife grabbed my erection with her other hand. I couldn’t really discern any special smell from the cumstains; I guess they were too dry. But just the awareness that they were touching my face (and my beloved was holding them there) was enough to drive me fucking crazy and when she finally made me come, after a few minutes of maddening starts and stops, I redeemed myself distance-wise by getting it not just on my shirt but past it, all the way up to the shirt in her hands. Yep, that’s right, the sprog’s shirt went into the wash with both his dried stains and my fresh ones on it.

After an experience like that you don’t really have to say much to each other and we kind of shamefacedly went off to shower and didn’t mention it later, although I felt a really weird, indescribable embarrassment next time I saw the sprog. I imagine my wife did too. Of course we kept giggling at each other whenever we heard him going at it in his room. (Which, like I said, was every day, several times a day.) And a few of nights later when we were in bed, I asked jokingly if there had been any other unusually impressive cum stains in the laundry, and that led to a discussion of whether the sprog had inherited his horniness from us or compulsive masturbation was just natural at that age, and that led (don’t ask how) to my dear wife speculating about whether the sprog was as well-endowed as I, and that led to my railing her hard, doggy-style, until she came so hard that we had to change the sheets before we went to sleep.

The thing is, I realized after the laundry room incident that discussing, or even just acknowledging our son’s masturbation, was a pretty powerful sexual trigger for my wife. I didn’t want to diminish the power of that by calling attention to it. But I was also finding myself more and more turned on thinking about it myself. I kind of wanted a laundry-room rematch of some sort, but what I got a couple weeks ago was much more dramatic. What happened was…

Well, let me give some background. We bought the sprog an Oculus Quest VR headset last summer. He’d wanted a VR headset for a long time and they were almost impossible to get at the beginning of the pandemic, so when I was looking for something else on the Best Buy site one day and noticed that the Quest had come back into stock, I ordered it on impulse. He deserved it — he’d really had been a trooper the whole time, cooped up in the house with us. He was humbly grateful and played games for a while in a space we cleared in the living room, but the headset soon disappeared with him into his room and I more or less forgot about it. Should have guessed he was using it to watch porn!

Anyway, my wife came into the bedroom two weeks ago and, stifling a giggle, said “Quick… come… come with me…” I got out and moved to put on some clothes, but she waved impatiently at me and then grabbed my hand, pulling me bare-ass naked out into the hall. The sprog’s door was half open, and the light from his ceiling lamp was streaming out the door, I started to go back into our room to cover up, but my wife shook her head and pulled me over to his bedroom. I shrugged inwardly and followed her. Yep, you guessed it – he was lying on his bed, completely nude, VR headset over his eyes, big stereo headphones over his ears (the ones built into the Quest were leaky, as I recalled; I couldn’t hear anything coming coming from these). Oh, and with his impressively-sized erection in hand, grunting discreetly as he masturbated. I looked in shock at my wife; she looked like was trying not to crack up. She put her finger on her lip. I wasn’t planning on saying anything. Looked back at the sprog. It really was pretty impressive. I hadn’t seen him naked since he was little. He wasn’t little anymore — in any sense.

I was getting aroused in spite of myself. It was distorting my sense of propriety; what we should have done is shut the sprog’s door gently and give him his damn privacy, but instead we stood there, by silent agreement, and watched as our son stroked himself like an expert, slowing down and speeding up, alternately cradling his balls with his left hand then deeply sniffing his fingers. I couldn’t help imagining what that must smell like. For a moment I even thought I could sense it faintly from the doorway, but that was unlikely. I was detecting a sexual odor, I realized, but it was a familiar one: my wife’s excitement. She must be as wet as I’m hard, I thought. I involuntarily looked down at my erection, then was powerless to avoid comparing it mentally with my son’s. I was absurdly relieved that I was still bigger, but simultaneously proud that it wasn’t by much.

We must have watched, wordlessly, for about ten minutes before the sprog began to moan quietly. My dear wife put her arm around my waist and together we watched our son grab his discarded briefs with his left hand, hold them against his crotch, let out a final loud-ish groan and come into the bunched-up underwear. As he relaxed, I came to my senses and, before he could take off his headset, hurriedly shut the door, leaving it open just a crack so as not to make a noise. We tiptoed gingerly back into our room and shut the door just in time to hear the sprog’s door open. He walked to the bathroom, which was adjacent to our bedroom, and — standing at our own closed door — we could plainly hear the unmistakeable sound of the foot pedal-operated laundry hamper opening and then closing, followed by a loud stream of piss, the toilet flushing, the water running in the sink, and our son returning to his bedroom and closing the door.

I turned to my wife, some wisecrack at the ready, but the words froze on my lips. She looked like a wild animal, and she literally growled at me: Get. The. Underwear. I wasn’t going to argue with her in this state. Ran to the bathroom, opened the hamper, recognized the briefs our son had just come into, grabbed them and ran back to our room, shutting the door securely behind me. My wife had already shed her clothes. She got onto her knees on the bed. I knew just what to do: I got behind her, my dick pressed against her ass, and pressed the underwear hard against her face. She breathed hard, moaned and pressed back against my erection. The sprog had come a truly prodigious amount; I could feel it dripping onto my hand. I smeared it against her face for good measure. The unmistakable smell of semen, our son’s semen, was already wafting in the air. My wife growled at me and I entered her from behind. There’s no polite way to say it; we fucked like wild animals. It didn’t last for long; within minutes my dear wife, overstimulated beyond all belief, gushed all over the bedspread, my penis pumping the clear liquid out of her hairy pussy. I slid out of her as she collapsed, completely exhausted, onto the wet bed. I couldn’t resist it anymore; I lay down on her back, my erection enveloped by her ample ass cheeks, and pressed the sprog’s underwear against my own face. In my excitement, the odor of my son’s genitals and semen overwhelmed my senses and, with my wife’s butt crack cradling my penis, gave a few short thrusts and violently blew my load all over her backside.

After I rolled off, I absently sopped up my semen with the sprog’s underwear; my wife giggled, then cracked up; we both laughed ourselves hoarse. It’s been two weeks; we haven’t talked about that night since.

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By NotReallyAshamed #Teen #Voyeur