Study Break -- A "Free Use" Mother and Son Novella
Fake Flower Stories
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Quick Note from the Author:
I have to be honest.
Free Use is really, really hard to make realistic when it’s between a mother and son.
I did my best with it though. Hopefully it was enough for what it needs to be, and that this story will give you an experience that feels tangible, with a mother you could almost love.
Enjoy.
fake flower
Chapter 1
The tightest mom ever hugged me in my entire life was the day I got accepted into Federal Way University.
That afternoon, under the anxious stares of my whole family, I ripped open the letter with the bright blue letterhead. Dad was looking a little green. Mom wasn’t. Her eyes were glittering, the gentle brown of them now intense, only barely brighter than her freckles. They both leaned closer as I read the first line of the letter out loud.
The instant I reached the word, “accepted,” mom squealed, jumped up, and ran into me with a tight and ecstatic hug, pressing herself against me.
Passionately tight.
And I mean, what mother wouldn't hug her son like that in a situation like this? Federal Way University was the kind of school that only the cream of the crop of the region could get into, the kind of place that international students paid big bucks to attend, all so they could put that bold blue seal on their resume.
Any parent would be ecstatic.
My own parents even more so, since Federal Way University was only fifteen minutes away. It was almost as if mom and dad planned for me to go there.
Not that I minded.
Especially not now.
Mom’s breasts were tight against me, rubbing against my head, the plushness and warmth of her body burying my face. When I said it was the tightest hug I’ve ever received from her, I wasn’t exaggerating.
In that instant I was more acutely aware of the weight, the scent, the texture and shape of my mother’s chest. I think some people would get a little weirded out by it, but honestly, it felt so wonderful and comfortable whenever she came and held me close to her tits. They were a soft, warm reminder that I was loved.
She was just affectionate like that.
Mom and dad bought me a new desk, gave me a speech about hard work, and then the term started with an all-out war against me by the faculty. While I know I deserved to get into Federal Way University, I did not realize that the workload was going to be so fucking insane.
It was almost as if the staff were trying to push the freshmen out. I can't tell you how many essays were due every single week. I can't tell you how many tests I had to take – almost as if every split second was hacked away, every waking moment now a desperate struggle to breathe.
It was very literally the kind of place that must've been founded by a guy on cocaine -- nobody could keep up with the courseload, except for the committed (me), the kinds of students that cheated, and the ones with access to Adderall.
But I did my best, despite the fact that I didn't have access to any of those; not Addies, not helpful cheating buddies, or, you know, cocaine.
The first term wasn't too bad. Somehow, my grades were passing. The classrooms emptied out as a massive chunk of the freshman student body washed out. Cheaters found out quick that no essay writer they hired could keep up with the sheer amount of work the faculty demanded of us. They washed out too. After them, the people who relied on Adderall started to drop out, their bodies too exhausted to keep up with the mental drain.
Instead of failing out, I adjusted. I now spent fourteen hours a day on my school – eight hours a day in classes, six hours a day in study and homework. Twelve hours on Saturday, twelve hours on Sunday. You know, so I could rest.
The first term ended.
I survived.
The second term was where it started to get a little hairy. The fourteen hours I was spending somehow wasn’t enough anymore. It was to the point where I was very literally spending 16 hours a day in high intensity study or classwork, not including breaks, and not including times I was rushing from room to room on campus, trying to keep up with the lecture schedule.
It was a major saving grace that we lived so close by. I collapsed in my bed, exhausted in body and mind, every single night. I didn't have time for anything extraneous at all. I barely had time to eat, I barely had time to sleep, and it was everything I could do to pass.
A’s were a distant dream. What I needed, more than anything, was just to pass. Even a transcript with the heading of Federal Way University meant gold to any possible employer.
All I had to do was survive.
Only the organized and the disciplined could make it out alive. That's how this kind of University operated. Only the people that could plan their entire lives, start to end, were going to make it. Life was now a rhythm of study, food, study, sleep, study, breaks, study, testing, studying, a five minute period that almost passed as a nap, and then more studying. I had my system completely down.
The only thing I was missing was jerking off.
And it was getting desperate.
When you're in the middle of a class on theory, it's damn near impossible to keep focused when you haven't jizzed in weeks, and the beautiful girl in front of you is wearing a thong, and it's just peeking out below the edge of her seat.
Words, ideas, those things didn’t matter in those moments. The girl in front of me, Amanda, had a brilliant flow of blonde hair that went all the way down to the very edge of her little line of underwear, flossed through her cute, tan lined ass.
That beautiful little line between her tight cheeks mattered.
I couldn't believe the kind of luck, or unluckiness I had in that instant as she leaned over, stretching farther, her gorgeous ass just chewing on and swallowing up that delicious looking thing, sliding between her ass cheeks. It was even more amazing when she would turn around sometimes, her perfume drifting behind her with a light scent, and when she would ask me, her blue eyes shining, her bra peeking out from that itty-bitty little jacket she wore, and she would ask me, her wet lips dragging on her finger… if she could borrow my pen.
Yeah, my ‘pen.’
So close.
This kind of scene played out continuously at school, where gorgeous girls were just as busy as I was. Way too busy to even try a coffee break with another person, much less a date. It was, in short, hell. Or maybe, purgatory.
Months went by. I barely managed a couple breaks where I could jerk off in one of the university bathrooms, or my own room if I had ten minutes. But as anyone my age knew, ten minute sessions every week or so weren’t enough.
I was a timebomb.
Mom and dad didn’t seem to notice my lack of jerking off, but they noticed that the stress was constant, and a definite tension and strain was growing. What kind of person my age could handle it? A few weeks of it would mess up some people, much less three or four terms per year. As I got more snappy, the internal heat and horniness overflowing, mom and dad started to change their attitude toward me.
One time I overheard dad trying to tell my mom that I needed some of the local white powder to boost me through, to help me get everything done, but faster. Mom was telling him that I needed therapy. Dad’s response was hilarious.
“How the fuck is he supposed to do therapy if he doesn’t even have time to sleep?”
You'd be lucky to have parents like mine. Dad was practical, no-nonsense, stable, and made sure I had money in my pocket and didn't have to work.
Mom was even better, she packed lunches, washed all my stuff, and made sure that my room was an absolute haven of studiousness. There was absolutely nothing I lacked in order to cover my basic needs, and our unspoken contract was that she’d do whatever it took as long as it meant that I passed my courses and secured my future.
If I wasn't suffering from a steadily growing, irrepressible, and unrelievable horniness every fucking day, I think I would've been a little bit more grateful. It even got to the point where I was having nocturnal emissions.
You know, wet dreams.
Dreams where I would envision Amanda, leaning over in her desk. Instead of begging for a pencil, she begged for my cock. She would get out of her chair, kneel before me, pull down that little itty-bitty jacket first, show off her dainty rosebud tits, and open her mouth, begging me to cover her light freckles with semen.
She'd suck me off, covering my shaft with drool, her mouth trying to make little requests for a pen while my cock impeded her words, her tongue swirling. And then she’d pull down her razor thin thong, the line of fabric barely wide enough to cover the line of her pussy, and she’d mount me while I sat on my desk, she’d ride me, the juicy sound of her tightness mixing with moans, begging me to fill her, until –
Like clockwork, my alarm would go off, right before I could finish. Every once in a while, the sound ruined an orgasm, shutting everything down before my poor balls could completely empty themselves, and I’d go through another miserable, blue-balled week.
That’s what happened one morning. I was dreaming of Amanda, spreading her tight ass in front of me, bent over my professor’s desk, her gorgeously dusky, tight little asshole on display, as she waited for me to push inside her, as her freckles glittered all over her face. Right as I finally penetrated her in the dream, as my cock pulled the cute pink rim of her asshole in and out, and her sultry, high voice told me that my ‘pen’ was the best, her struggling gasps eliciting an insane, tight strain up my taint, and right as I was about to cum deep inside her perfect little asshole, the alarm blared through.
The dream obliterated into the noise of my phone as I launched myself awake, my cock dripping cum, with my orgasm incomplete, my balls aching. The jizz fucked up my boxers, dripped all over my sheets, leaving a trail of white spots, rapidly darkening as they soaked into my bed.
And fuck, my balls hurt.
After changing, I went to the kitchen to get coffee so I could get right back to studying, even though I wanted to kill myself.
I passed mom in the hall. I didn’t realize she was heading to my room to preemptively change everything.
I guess she must've found the sheets.
As I came back, feeling more foul than ever, coffee in hand, she came out holding the sheets, with a shocked and horrified look on her pretty freckled face as she looked at the sheer amount of semen I had spilled all over them.
“Son,” she said, her voice a little high, her voice strained, her gaze on the slick spot where her son’s cum had pooled just minutes ago, “you really need to learn to use tissues.”
Now, I'm not proud of what I said back.
When you've barely slept after weeks of stress, and you’ve been jerked awake right at the best part of a sexy dream, balls deep inside a girl like Amanda, and your first few minutes of waking life were spent trying to summon the ever-decreasing desire to get back to studying like a good little idiot, and the coffee was gross because you made it yourself instead of asking mom, and you get confronted by her because you left semen all over the sheets as if you were too horny to use a tissue, and now you’re embarrassed because she thinks you just cum where you sleep like an animal, then it’s almost understandable to be agitated.
But it wasn’t okay to yell.
Especially at my mom.
I didn't just yell at her. I said other dumb shit too. I told her to stay out of my business, I told her she needed to respect my fucking privacy, I yelled that I was going fucking insane from how hard school was, and that I was fucking sorry for jizzing all over her precious sheets but it wasn’t my fucking fault, and sorry I had a stupid fucking wet dream.
I know for a fact that I deserved a slap to the face. Maybe I would have felt better if she had.
Instead, mom’s pretty brown eyes started to water, her open mouthed shock turned into a frown, and then a frustrated, embarrassed little cry. She turned around and left before she actually started really, really crying since her son was such a fucking insensitive, ungrateful, scary asshole.
I really hated to see her cry. Especially as the reality sank in.
Mom was trying her own best to make sure that I was doing well. She was even going so far as to dip in and out of my room to clean so I got to enjoy some order and tidiness while I fought for the most important degree of my life.
I really didn’t blame her for making some kind of comment about jizzing in the sheets either.
It would have been insanely disrespectful to consciously do that, because she did all my laundry. Maybe if I wasn't such a frustrated, horny little fuck, I would've just swallowed the embarrassment and said ‘sorry, I just had a wet dream. Let me put those in the washer mom, you don’t have to handle that kind of stuff.’
It all made sense, right after I made her cry.
I bit the bullet and took the time to apologize. Mom was sitting on her bed while I stood awkwardly in the doorway, trying to explain that I was sorry, that the way I acted was unacceptable, and that I was going to try harder to be more respectful from now on. Mom leaned back and patiently listened, nodding, her hands spread across her bed as her legs were crossed under her sundress. After a few minutes, she nodded, smiled, her freckles dappling across her face. “I forgive you, hun,” she said, softly. “I know you’re going through a lot right now.”
Now, it's not like mom was the town beauty or anything, but I definitely think that in this instance, she was stunning. It’s amazing what kindness and forgiveness can do for a guy. It just added a whole new dimension of beauty to her, brightening the freckles that ran across her nose and cheeks.
After what she said, we looked at each other for a couple minutes. It was a sweet and soul-easing relief to just be with her, to appreciate the way she looked. She was curvy, her legs so beautiful. The sun dress and the way she crossed her legs made her so, I don’t know, feminine and vulnerable. She seemed so… sweet.
I guess it was a little weird to think of my own mom in all those ways, but in all fairness, I was having a moment. It just felt great to know my mother cared.
After a bit, mom came close, held me tight, pressed me against her gorgeous and abundant chest, and whispered in my ear that she understood. “I know it’s a lot of stress, baby. It’s hard, but I need you to do a little better from now on, okay?”
I nodded and made a firm promise to myself that I was going to make her proud.
What followed was a few days of normalcy. Or as normal as it could get with the schedule like mine. Still didn't get a chance to jerk off, and I still definitely didn't get a chance to even breathe, but if there was one thing I knew, it was that mom was on my side.
A nightmare happened a couple days after that.
My laptop, which I relied on as if it were a flotation device, suddenly died. I don't know if it was because I was running with it into the walls in order to get to class on time, or if it was because I accidentally spilled water, or coffee, or tea on it, or if it froze because I didn't thank it personally every time it helped me pass an assignment.
It was dead, and I had a major assignment due in three hours.
There were only a few other computers in the house. Dad had his own in his office, and mom had a tablet that she liked to use for social media. Since dad took the laptop with him to work, I decided I’d make it work with my mom's tablet. Luckily, it was still in the living room on the coffee table. I sighed with relief as I opened it up, trying to remember all of the logins I had to go through.
When I opened it, I noticed that mom had left her internet app open.
I didn’t mean to read it – I wasn’t the type to go snooping around people’s search history, and besides, her privacy was really important to me. Despite that, I immediately noticed the header of the blog.
Sex Society.
And the blog went over a very interesting topic and title that I had no idea mom would let herself linger on. I started reading, my curiosity too much to stop.
Japanese sexual study method?
Academic competition is insanely fierce on the island nation of Japan. It's the kind of place where status is determined by the school you go to, the placement you have within that school, and the connections built there. Is the kind of rigorous academic system that requires absolute devotion from its attendees in order to make it work. Unfortunately, Japanese males have a harder time than Japanese females, as their hormones tend to drive them to distraction, decreasing their ability to function in an increasingly competitive environment.
But within the last few generations, Japanese mothers have found a way to overcome their son’s struggles at school, and set them up for incredible success.
Anonymous women by the dozens have written to us explicitly about this rarely shared secret within the study rooms (and bedrooms) of their sons.
From Hitomi Tanaka (name changed to protect identity):
When my sons placement in school started dropping, I knew I had to do something drastic. Maybe it was wrong of me. But frankly I don't care – my son’s success and happiness are so important to me.
It took a little convincing, but I convinced him to let me sexually, you know, take care of his needs. I masturbate him. Whenever he needs it, which is often, whenever he's feeling stressed, or whenever he asks it of me. It's not the kind of thing that takes long, but I know he appreciates it. 15 minutes of his pleasure translates into hours of study and focus.
Even though my hands and mouth have gotten a little tired, he’s doing much better than ever before. It feels good to know my son is excelling now with my help.
I have even started to enjoy the taste.
My jaw dropped in disbelief, not really understanding what I was reading. Or was I just refusing to understand it? Was this blog about a mother that was blowing her son to help him study better? Did I really read right that dozens of women wrote in about it? What did that say about how many mothers were doing it without writing in anonymously?
I knew that Japanese school system was tough. But I didn’t know it was that tough.
Then it struck me that my mom was reading this. Was she crazy? How could a mom even consider doing something like this with her son? Did she really think the situation was that dire?
Did she really think I was losing it?
She knew my future rode on my ability to graduate this school, and she knew that I was going through a hell of a lot, and that my ability to even act civilly was breaking down. But I didn't think that she would go looking into results this extreme. Why couldn't she have looked up where to get Adderall? What kind of curiosity could emerge in a woman where she’d get through a blog post like that about masturbating her adult son?
I heard mom clear her throat.
I jumped and noticed her staring at me from the edge of the room. Not sternly, but nervously. She was looking at the screen of her tablet, looking at me, realizing that I had read exactly what she'd been reading. We kind of sat there for a minute, staring at each other.
“My computer died,” I stammered, “and I really need to finish this assignment.” I tried to speak with a little bit more steadiness, as if somehow, I could play this off and that I could pretend that I hadn’t read it, and that way mom could be spared the weird embarrassment of reading about jerking off her own son in order to help him succeed.
But my tone wasn't as certain as I wanted it. And then there was silence as mom couldn’t muster up a response to what was obviously a coverup.
“Well,” mom said finally, her voice high, “just let me know when you're done.” She turned around and left the room, while I sat there with the tablet, trying to not let my mind go numb and blank with shock and awkwardness.
And processing.
My brain feverishly worked out the insane details of what mom was thinking about. It was crazy. It was wrong. It was completely taboo and the kind of stuff that you only ever heard somebody whisper once as a rumor you didn’t believe and never heard about again for the rest of your life.
But would it work?
Some little recess of my mind said it could. I suddenly imagined mom, sitting beside me on the couch – instead of stroking my hair, or patting my thigh, her hand was wrapped around my cock. My mother’s freckled face descended from a kiss, soft, smiling, pleased that her little boy was erect, until she bent all the way down and took my length fully into her hot, wet mouth, as she—
Wait.
What the fuck.
There must be something that happens to a guy's mind when he hasn't cum in ages. A little bit of insanity that's locked away, only staved off every time he's able to sit down and jerk off. The crazy part is the section of the brain that wants to fuck at all costs, no matter what kind of hole is before them. But I guess that little crazy part of me was breaking through, getting stronger, becoming a beast that demanded satisfaction, that demanded a woman's touch, demanded a hole to cum inside.
Between the wet dream, yelling at my mom, the insane ideas mom was thinking about, the weird practical reality that if I was to cum more often, that maybe I could focus better, all of it mixed together in an insane little understanding that the beast in my head ravenously ate up.
I needed to cum.
And my mom could help.
I felt dizzy.
I got up and went to the bathroom and tried to calm down. But the insane movement in my head brought forward the image of my mom, my actual mom, not Amanda, or any of the other innumerable girls University, but instead I thought about my beautiful, curvy mother, kneeling in front of me, jerking me off, her red, wet tongue out as she begged me to fill her mouth with my seed.
The fantasy grew. It took over.
I pulled out my cock and closed my eyes, masturbating over the sink, slipping immediately into the imagery. I couldn’t stop – I wouldn’t stop. I was pent up, bursting, the precum already dotting the head of my cock.
In my head, I saw my mom delightfully submitting to me; sitting on the edge of my bed, she licked my cock, pulled down her shirt to reveal ample, lovely curves; tits that were more womanly than the girls that were at my university. My mom was a real woman, curves, freckles, soft brown eyes and all, and I only imagined her in that instant as a woman, begging me to come in her mouth, desperately jerking me off, telling me that I was a good son and that she was so proud of me, the kind of stuff that was so fucking insane when paired with the pleasure of a woman begging you to fill her mouth with semen.
All I could see in my minds eye was my mom's glistening tongue, and the freckles that glittered across her face, freckles prettier than Amanda's. I could see as she spread her legs as she sat on my bed, revealed all the delicious white skin of her thighs, of her waist, the color between her legs a mix of maroon. And pink.