Sleepless Nights And Busy Mornings

At age 18, husky Lorri Smith married her high school sweetheart, samoyed Thomas Abrams the same summer they graduated together. Six months later, she learned she was pregnant. They were both overjoyed. Their little samoyusky pup was going to be so loved. Then, next thing she knew, he was dead. That was the worst week of her life. The sickness took him so fast. It was like one day, he was fine, healthy, wonderful. Then the next he was gone. Nineteen years old and attending the funeral for her same-age husband while gravid with pregnancy was far and away the worst thing she lived through.

Now, nine years later, her son Timothy is well on his way to being a fine young man—a good, kind, thoughtful boy full of life and joy. He makes her proud to be his mother every day.

At 1:06 AM, Timothy Abrams slides from his bed and creeps on silent paws to his mother's bedroom, a pup on a mission.

Over the summer, at a sleepover, his friends convinced him to watch a scary movie with them. They claimed it “wasn't even that scary,” but he spent the next month haunted by nightmares. Every night for two weeks, he woke up crying or screaming or both, and stumbled his way to his mommy for comfort. He spent most of his nights for that first month sleeping with her in her big soft bed.

And that's how he made a big discovery.

His mommy is a very heavy sleeper.

She will sleep through pretty much anything that isn't her alarm or her bedroom lights. Many of his worst nights saw him curled up shivering against her side too afraid to wake her as she blissfully snored on, unaware of his plight.

Over the last few weeks, as his sleep has become less troubled, he has found other things to do with himself in his mommy's bed.

And that's how he made several other discoveries.

Tim carefully cracks her door open, slips through, then up under the covers she has bunched up at the foot of her bed. He crawls up between her legs, settling down right between her knees. As he worries at the hem of her nightshirt where it sits halfway down her thighs, he appreciates that she always leaves her curtain open at night, so there is plenty of starlight for him to still see under the bedsheet. Then he grips her nightshirt and eases it up, up, up her body.

His mommy doesn't wear any undies to bed.

He tucks her nightshirt up under her arms, along the tops of her breasts, and takes in the majesty of his mommy's body. Big, heavy breasts sag to either side of her torso, wide areolas with inverted nipples that he knows from experience will poke out if he plays with them enough. Below her breasts, her chubby, soft belly rises and falls with her slow breaths, her four vestigial pairs of teats running down it toward her hips. And the greatest prize, the thing that always draws his attention sooner or later—between her thick thighs, her puffy canine vulva.

Already, he feels himself heating up, his breath coming in pants and his penis poking from his sheath. Next comes his favorite and most recent discovery.

He can put his penis inside his mommy's vagina.

He groans and then sighs as he sheathes his rock-hard little penis inside his mother's vagina.  It always feels so good, being inside her like this. For the past few nights, he's been sneaking into her bed just to lie on top of her with his little cock inside. He attaches to her left nipple and begins suckling.

For the next few minutes, he just lies there, rising and falling with her steady breathing, suckling at her unproductive tit, feeling her pussy grow steadily wetter. Then he starts to feel... he's not sure what it is. It feels really good, though. 

“My wiener—feels—unff.”

Then—his penis jerks once, twice, and suddenly he's squirting something out of the tip into her with every additional twitch. His very first orgasm passes with him panting against his mother's breast, hips giving little unconscious thrusts as he ejaculates.

When he comes down enough to move again, he pulls away to see what's happened and finds a bulb of slightly-wider flesh at the base of his cock—his first time seeing his own knot—and her cookie oozing a clearish-white fluid—his cum. Fearing he might get caught, he scurries back to his own bed, leaving her door open, her sheets rumpled, her nightshirt rucked up, and her pussy a cummy mess.

Morning arrives and she doesn't seem angry with him. She doesn't even seem to have noticed. He decides to wait a day before doing anything else, just in case. Even though he's really curious about his knot, and how that would feel inside her. That night is restless for him.

The next day, something is different. His mommy smells different. A really good sort of different. He's extra clingy with her all day.

That night, vibrating with excitement, Timmy climbs out of bed, strips down, and runs to his mommy's bed.  There, he makes a new discovery.

His mommy wore undies to bed tonight.

He's been in bed with her almost every night for months, and he hasn't noticed her do that before. He shrugs and shakes his head, then pulls his mommy's briefs down, down, down her legs and off, setting them aside. That's when the smell really hits him, and he figures it out—it's his mommy's pussy that smells so different and good. He sniffs and looks and pokes at it. It's bigger, and puffier, and wetter than normal, too. His little cock gets harder than it ever has faster than it ever has, and he knows—he needs to put it inside her.

So he does.

It feels so much better than normal, too. Lying atop his mommy, he grunts and whines and strains as he humps into her with vigor. Lewd, naughty wet squelching noises, muffled slightly by her covers, fill the room.

“Unh! Nf. Mommy! It feels so good.”

When he feels the bulb at the base of his penis beginning to expand, he lifts himself up to get a look at it. He watches the way it presses into her puffy cookie and spreads her lips extra-far apart, feels how sensitive it is.  He decides he's gonna put it in her.  It takes a couple extra-forceful bucks of his hips to do it, but he forces his knot in and then—he's ejaculating again. 

Squirt, squirt, squirt, he rhythmically pumps his cum right into his mother's vagina, unaware of why it smells so good today.

He sags down against her. Knotting her just felt ten times better than the first time. He wants to do it again. Knot still inflated, he starts humping at her anew.

For nearly two hours, that's what he does. He humps, he cums, he rests, then he starts again. He loses count of how many times he squirts into her. He keeps it up, over and over and over, until exhaustion takes him.

The next thing he knows, his mommy's alarm is going off, way too close to his ear, and his mommy is speaking to him.

“Timmy, baby, did you have another bad dream?” He feels her hand rub up and down the fur of his back, then stop suddenly. “Where's your clothes, baby?” The bedsheets are tossed away and he squints his eyes against the light as his mommy gasps. “Timothy, what are you doing? Pull out!”

He tries, and they both discover he's still tied. They both gasp a mixture of shock and pleasure.

“Mommy!”

“Baby no!”

Lorri Abrams has lived a pretty great life. She found love early—true love, with a kind, patient, devoted, wonderful young man, her high school sweetheart. And even though he was taken from her far too early, she got to have five years with him, and before he died he graced her with a pup and an unwavering belief that she would be an amazing mother. She has spent the last nine years trying to be that amazing mother that Thomas knew she could be.

Now, age 28, widowed and not looking, living alone with her son and working from home, Lorri's pretty happy. She's satisfied with who she is and what she's done so far.  Little Timothy is a wonderful boy well on his way to being a fine young man—good, kind, thoughtful, so full of life and joy. He is in many ways a monument to her dead husband. Sometimes when she looks at him it's like seeing what Thomas would have looked like had she known him before high school—they have the same eyes.

Lately, though, her pup has been having trouble. After a sleepover with his friends, he has been haunted by nightmares. She knows they didn't intend to hurt him, but wishes they knew how much that movie got to him. It seems like more often than not, she wakes to find him in her bed, cuddled up to her for comfort after another nightmare.

She's never shied away from showing him physical affection, she constantly showers him in kisses and hugs and licks and pets—he deserves them, he's such a good boy—so this extra time together overnight doesn't bother her. Far from it, she loves it. In her short time with her husband, she grew to need a sleeping partner to cuddle her, to warm the bed, to ground her, to wake up to. So for her son to be filling his father's role now warms her heart, even if it comes at the cost of his sleep being addled by nightmares. Though from what he's told her, nights with her are free from bad dreams, so maybe she should just convince him to bed with her all the time!

But that will have to wait.

She just started her heat.

And while she loves and trusts Timmy, she also knows that instinct can be a powerful force even in sleep. She busies herself with getting ready. She lifts her nightshirt up over her head, then gives herself a good look in her mirror. She's round, and soft. Her late husband loved that about her, constantly complimented her curves. She'd like to think the extra curves her pregnancy gave her would have been appreciated, too. Her large, heavy breasts settle to either side of her soft, chubby belly in a way she finds pleasing. She hefts one up, savors the weight of it, runs her thumbpad around her areola to coax her nipple out from hiding. She wishes she still produced milk. Below her belly, her hips are wide, with thick soft thighs that brush against her heat-swelled spade. Altogether, she has a beautiful, motherly figure, all soft, wide curves. She loves the way she looks.

Then she realizes her other hand is knuckle-deep in her canine pussy. She pulls her fingers out, wipes them on her discarded shirt, and admonishes herself for getting carried away. She makes a mental note to wear panties to bed tonight, as added precaution. 

The day passes in a haze of lust-addled discomfort. She isn't sure if it's because he can smell it and is reacting to it, or she's just more sensitive, but it seems like Tim is more affectionate, more clingy, than usual today. Lots of extra hugs, of resting his head against a breast, of his fur brushing against hers.

Every one sends a jolt between her legs, slickening her heated vagina further. Once, during a hug, his snout brushes her nipple, and she has to excuse herself to hurry to the bathroom and finger herself. This heat seems so much more than usual.

She makes it through day one of her heat, somehow, and gets into bed and gets comfortable before remembering—she needs to wear panties tonight. It takes her ten minutes lying there working up the gumption to rise before she finally manages the feat. White, full-figure briefs in place (the crotch uncomfortably pressed against her vulva) she returns to bed, and finally sleeps.

Then her alarm wakes her. Lorri manages to hit the off button and yawn before noticing the other presence in her bed—her pup, Tim, has joined her again. He's lying on top of her, head pillowed on one breast and his hand gently resting atop the other's nipple with the sheet fully hiding him from her. She smiles—despite bad dreams bringing him here to her, she's glad to have him. She speaks softly, gently.

“Timmy, baby, did you have another bad dream?” She soothingly runs her hand up and down the bare fur of his back—bare fur? She stops her petting. 

“Where's your clothes, baby?” She tosses the sheet away and gasps at what she sees. He's fully nude on top of her, legs between hers. Her shirt is pushed up to expose her breasts—his headfur is mingling with the coat of her breast, hand gripping at her exposed nipple. And her panties are lying off to the side.

That's when she feels a twitch. He's inside of her.

“Timothy, what are you doing? Pull out!”

Her raised voice spurs him, and he tries to push himself up, pull away—but he can't. He's tied, and pulling at their attached loins draws a gasp from both of them as she clenches and he twitches.

He moans out, “Mommy!”

She cries, “Baby no!”

And it's too late.

He gives one, two confused humps into her, grunts, and then she can feel it. His penis, knot lodged inside her heated slit, surges then pumps her full of wet heat.

She cums harder than she ever has.

She howls, cries, thrashes, arches her back, and squirts, clinging to her pup as he gives her body what it needs, what it has not received in nearly ten years. She blacks out, she thinks.

When she comes to, he has pushed himself up with his hands and is looking into her face.

“Mommy? Are you okay? You're crying.”

“Yes, baby, Mommy's okay.” She sighs, tries to catch her breath. He tries to lick away her tears.

What is Lorri to do? Her son just mated her. In her heat. And judging from her panties on the bed beside them and the sticky-hardened fur of her crotch and thighs, he may have done it before. This is wrong. He may have raped her in her sleep. He may not even understand what he has done. But she likes it.

Lorri loves her son. Adores him. He's her whole world. He's all she has. Everything she does, she does for him. And he loves her too, right? 

And it's already too late now, right?

'In for a penny, in for a pound,' right? 

So why shouldn't they share this new love with one another? She smiles down at him, saccharine-sweet

“Baby,” she calls.

“Mmhm?”

“You know Mommy loves you, with all her heart?”

“Yeah, Mommy.” He ducks his head, bashful. “I love you too.”

“I'm glad to hear that, Timmy.” She returns to rubbing her hand up and down his back. “We're gonna have to talk about what you did last night, okay?” She feels him tense atop her.

“Mhm.” He nods into her breast.

“Good. But for now, Mommy needs you to do something for her.”

“Okay.”

Lorri feels her smile become something a little predatory. She rolls them over onto Timmy's back, letting herself tower over the boy. Then she growls out,

“Mommy needs you to lie there and give her all the cum in your little balls.”

She sets to humping and grinding atop him with a frantic pace. Her hanging belly rests on him, and her breasts swing around, slapping into one another just above his head. He cries out her name.

“That's it baby, yes, give it to Mommy.”

She feeds a nipple into his mouth, and he latches on and starts suckling with a suspicious familiarity. She resolves to add that to the discussion they're having later, and focuses on moving his hands to her hips, toying with her own nipple, stroking her clit.

She's surprised and pleased into an orgasm when one of his hands wanders over to tweak a belly nipple, howling at the ceiling as she squirts.  The rhythmic clenching of her pussy seems to pull him over with her. He pops from her tit to join her howl and press his little hips up into her. She revels in the feeling of his cock pulsing inside of her. In this moment, a small part of her mind realizes she will never stop this now that she's begun, that little Timothy has replaced his father, her husband, as her mate. That thought pushes her into renewed contractions as she hurtles into a second consecutive orgasm.

They keep up that pace for an hour, frantically rutting over and over. When she introduces him to doggystyle, he titters but sets to work with delicious efficiency. She discovers she loves the feeling of his little balls slapping against her clit, but she wishes she could see his face.

He falls asleep after his fourth ejaculation. Or maybe 'passes out' would be more appropriate. Either way, he stays hard for her, and she rides her little samoyusky through two more mindbreaking, squirting orgasms before she, too, is too exhausted to continue.

When they wake, there will be a difficult discussion waiting for them. But until then, mother lies on her back, rolls her little boy on top of her, coaxes his little cock back into her pussy, and sleeps.