Receipts For Mommy - Sex Stories

Receipts For Mommy

... asserting and encouraging me to push towards what I wanted, all while she was all alone. Dad died before I could even talk and everyone else bailed at any chance they got. I was all she had and she was all I had.

I’ve always found it unfair, though. While it is her duty as a parent, she’s never gotten a proper break from it all. Work and the government telling her to provide would always rear their ugly heads. She’s never had a real vacation. I don’t even think she’s experienced a proper weekend. She was always doing something. Plus, now she’s gonna have to go back to living alone after helping me carry these heavy boxes. I think it’s about time we changed that. Time for you to finally relax, mom.

“You know, mom,” I start, “I know a guy who’s in the reflexology business and he actually showed me a few things.”

She narrows her eyes, making me realize the mistake of my phrasing.

“Wait, no!” I reiterate “That came out wrong. He wasn’t performing on me. It was all dummy. Anyway, all he taught me was how to give a good foot massage. So, if you’re interested, I can implement my learnings.”

“What do I keep telling you?” she responds before taking another sip,

“I know, I know,” I answer, “‘Those who get massages are just pampered losers who don’t know what it is to truly work.’ And, while that argument was daunting, I finally have a counterpoint to end it once and for all: limited experience.”

“Taylor.”

“Look, just give it a chance. Just a few minutes and ...

... this is never brought up again if you don’t like it.”

She ponders for a moment. Come on. Pleeeease.

“I don’t know,” she retorts,

“Mom, please,” I plead, “I just wanna take care of you. You’ve done so much for me already. Just let me thank you in the best way I can.”

I then give her a pout, knowing she can’t say no to her little girl forever. And I’m right. She sighs again and says,

“Three minutes. No more, no less.”

Yes! Phase one of my plan is complete. Now for phase two. Which can’t be too hard. Three minutes is plenty of time. Plus, she’s pretty worn out from today. This’ll be a piece of cake.

“Thanks, mommy,” I reply in excitement before pecking her on her cheek. She smiles back before I immediately kneel in front of her, taking off her shoes and socks. I then take a second to look at her feet. They’re so tiny it’s adorable. They’re almost the size of a baby’s. But that’s enough ogling. Time is of the essence. I grab her left foot, working my magic. I look to see her reaction. It’s clear she likes it, but doesn’t wanna admit it. Fine. I add more pressure, earning a sigh of bliss. Gotcha. She takes a glance at me and sees my smug face.

“Shut up,” she says, turning her head away, “It’s only because you’re good at anything you do.”

“Thanks, mom,” I respond, flattered, “Only the beast for you.”

I continue my actions, forming my rhythm and balancing my pressure. The more I go, the more proud I’m feeling of myself. If only I could perform something ...