Every family has its little quirks.

A lot of the time, it's just how they act—and interact—that makes them special. Especially in their own households, isolated from other people and their expectations, families can be so free and colorful in who they are and how they express themselves. Sure, you have your moms, and your dads, and the kids—but beyond that, they're people, and they can do and be a lot more than just "normal."

These familial eccentricities can be delightful, or annoying, but they're usually pretty harmless, as long as everybody keeps things lighthearted. After all, being together is what really matters. Though, in the Smiths' case, staying together is often easier said than done. For this family of pale redheads, quite literally.

How many times does John Smith have to tell his sons not to sword-fight with their own detached arms—outside, in the front yard—before they finally listen? How many times does Lissa Smith need to have an embarrassing grocery shopping blunder before she realizes that, just maybe, taking off and lifting up your own head like you're some headless horseman isn't necessary to look on the top shelf for canned beans?

And then there's Mark—youngest son of 20 now—who once wanted to show off to his crush in middle school by popping his own eye out of its socket—and subsequently putting it back in. She's probably still in therapy, but, hey, Mark found it funny.

The eldest son—Ricky, now 23—has at least kept his personal quirks fairly well within his immediate family. Not one to flaunt, he likes to play around with his detached body parts when no one else is looking. The rest of his family does the same, of course, but the moderate sense to keep it behind closed doors is what sets Ricky apart. It shows a maturity; he understands the time and place for that sort of thing.

Even with COVID-19 wreaking havoc on everyone's lives these days, Ricky is still going headfirst into his college classes, never missing a day, even if it means taking online classes.

Even if it means temporarily moving back in with his parents. It's not ideal, but until COVID passes, that's the way things are right now. And that's fine by Ricky. He'd much

rather be home and continue his studies than deal with the whole "college life" scene, anyway. His old room at Mom and Dad's might be kind of dusty, but it'll be home. For now, at least.

It's a shame, though. He gets to come back to see his one-of-a-kind family, yet school sucks away most hours of the day. Just this week, his brother, Mark—who chose to ditch college in light of COVID-19—and his dad went on a camping trip, leaving him home with Mom, who is an absolute sweetheart. Breakfast, lunch, dinner—and plenty of snacks and goodies in between. It's a nice distraction in the grunge of online college classes. Even better, she doesn't mind when he stays up late to study and tends to cater to him well into the night, making him a cup of tea or sugar cookies while he crams for tests.

It's nice and continues to be nice. There's no real "but" or "however". It feels like home. He loves it. And why wouldn't he? The Smith family isn't exactly normal, but they're his family. Comfortable is good; loving is better. So, he doesn't think it odd to…do as boys do, and have some late-night relief.

Studying is tough! Draining, at least. Sometimes, he needs a little pick-me-up to keep on track. He's courteous enough to turn down the lights and keep it quiet—no mom needs to see, let alone hear, their own child relieving himself. In fact, this would actually be the first time he's done this since he's come back home, so just the thought leaves Ricky a bit tender in his pants. Staring at a laptop's screen can do that. It inspires a wandering hand.

And, well, he finds himself slowly unzipping, his eyes still locked on the screen. Slowly, carefully, he peels away his jeans' fabric, letting it drop past his knees, and this is just about when the consideration hits him.

There's nothing wrong with this. He's in his own room, after all. It'd take less than an hour. Besides, just listen to his body—so feverish with desire, it only makes sense to satisfy it. Don't let a new environment distract from what used to be a daily ritual. Remember that smell—that taste—and don't bother to be modest. He, above all else, knows how good it feels.

Ricky hasn't had a lot of experience. No one has explored his body as thoroughly as he has. So, he's grown a fondness for giving his body its due—average to others is just perfect for him. His favorite way of showing this? Taking his head off and letting it sit between his thighs, and begin a slow seduction of his own flesh.

Usually, it's a far more detached—no pun intended—experience, relieving stress with simple strokes under the sheets, no shame in it, no embarrassment, no guilt. Just relaxation. Now, his own head is in-between his legs, and he can tell this little part-time relief isn't going to be nearly so relaxed. Having his own breath warm his bulge is…exciting. Dangerously so. Worst still, Ricky can smell it—the musk of his cock in need, aching to be released from his boxers and let loose on the mouth so gingerly offered to it.

So much temptation passes him over in just seconds. There's an absent-minded petting through his locks now, as if convincing his detached head to get the message and open wide, even though he knows—with absolute clarity—that his balls will not spare his mouth a moment's consideration. While this head might have been removed from its rightful place between his shoulders, Ricky's more instinctual drive says, no—this head is right where it should be, right where his mouth is most welcome.

Only minutes later, that instinct has him tugging down his briefs and taking himself to third base, right on his bed.

It starts with a little bit of tongue. A mere flicker across the tip, getting the pale pink of the glans wet. Ricky's hands urge his detached head closer, unwholly unsatisfied with just a meager taste, leaving his erection to bat and slap on his own cheeks. In response, he tilts his head just enough to capture the swollen crown. Though not at all deep, his mouth's moistness is enough to make his shaft throb—throb and ooze precum onto his tongue. It's a saltiness he adores, and every swirl of his tongue and blushing suckle only spurs the flow.

Soon, it becomes an exercise in self-control to not thrust too hard into his face and choke himself out. He wants to feel it go in his throat, if only for his own gratification, but that's a trial best saved for an empty house. For now, he takes his time and savors

each lick across the sensitive ridges of his cockhead—that salty flavor mingling with the sweetness of his saliva. Only once he's gotten used to the feeling of sucking himself off does he start bobbing his head up and down, aided by trembling arms. He's got to work quickly here if he wants to cum soon. That's why he goes for speed over technique.

He can't hold out forever, especially with his mother downstairs, who is growing frighteningly close to knocking on his door—and calling him down for dinner—any minute now. Maybe he should have waited, but all the studying and all the homework was wearing him thin. This is his escape. Something to unwind with. Something to help him forget everything else going on in his life—and maybe even find some peace in something as simple as blowing himself. It certainly works wonders for his mind. As does the sight of his cock sliding in and out of his mouth, visibly throbbing between his lips, begging to be given release.

Maybe if he went a bit deeper—a bit quicker—he could manage that explosion he craves.

But, then comes the knock-knock. And that voice—Mom's. Ricky knows he shouldn't answer. If she sees him like this—his head in between his legs, cock in his mouth—she'll know. But it's already too late. She knocks again. Louder this time.

She's heard her boy moaning, she's sure of it. Out of maternal worry, she tries the knob to see if Ricky is okay—and that's when Ricky realizes that he didn't lock the door before he began. A classic rookie mistake. Now, he has to roll with it.

If she comes in and sees THIS… What will he say? Ricky has maybe five seconds, so, uh…maybe he should use them wisely.

"Honey, is everything okay? Dinner is ready and I was calling for you… Oh, don't tell me you fell asleep on your little laptop again. That is so—."

Showing neither second thought nor parental know-how that maybe it's unwise to walk into a son's room after hearing a loud moan coming from within, Lissa Smith opens the door and steps inside. Right into the middle of her son's blowjob. Admittedly, his cock is out of his mouth by the time she's fully in the room. The unmistakable glaze of saliva all

over his shaft—and even strings of the stuff connecting his lips to said cock—speaks volumes to what she's walked in on.

However, as Ricky soon finds out, explaining away such a lewdly horrific sight is easier than it seems.

"M-Mom! I—I got a bit, b-by a spider while I was studying! Right on my penis, too!"

There's a moment of silence from Lissa, staring at her son's crotch with a mixture of shock and confusion. It's almost comical to watch the gears turning in her head.

How could this be? How did he get a spider on his dick? Why would spiders be attracted to penises? Is her meatloaf ready yet? And how does this relate to the fact that her son took off his own head to suck on spider-bitten cock? None of these questions are answered immediately. Instead, there's an uproarious cry—literally.

Tears are beading up in Lissa's eyes.

"Oh, no! My baby boy—I told your father we needed to get this house sprayed for bugs! I'm so sorry, honey…" Her voice trails off as she looks at the evidence before her. The throbbing, slobber-slick evidence. "Goodness, you were trying to suck out the venom, weren't you? Oh, sweetheart…" She reaches down to gently remove Ricky's head from its current place of service and back on his neck where it belongs.

Certainly not what he expected her to say or react. Lissa is a rather textbook house mom. She cares for her family and takes pride in being their caretaker. Even her body has taken that role, plumpening out her chest and hips with age—and a healthy serving of motherhood—to become more voluptuous and capacitive of a family's needs.

Best not to dwell on it. Her motherly instincts and mild innocence have just saved him a lifetime of embarrassment.

"Yeah! Y-Yup! Just trying to suck the venom out. Hahaaaa, jeez…"

"Well, did you get it all, honey? It still looks rather flushed. Angry, even. Now, I don't know where that bite is, but the penis is a sensitive organ and needs special care when injured. Here," she sighs and takes off her own head, "Let's see if I can coax anything

else out with a little elbow grease. Er, mouth grease? Whatever—I'm going to suck it out with my mouth."

"W-What!?"

"What?" She repeats, confused at Ricky's sudden hesitation. "My mouth is no different than yours. Besides, the longer we wait, the more time that nasty venom will have to seep into your bloodstream and cause damage. Trust me; it won't be pretty."

As if her hand was a rolling pin, she has Ricky on his back and laying out flat on his bed before he can protest any further. He squirms—naturally given the situation—as Lissa straddles him. Why she figures this is a good idea, he doesn't quite understand. Neither does he understand why or how she can hover her butt over his face and still remain completely sure that this is totally normal behavior for mothers and sons to engage in together. Still, there's nothing for it now—Lissa has already begun working his cock with one hand while using the other to hold her detached head over his dick. He's helpless to resist as her tongue presses against his member—and begins its slow descent towards his ballsack.

"Mom! M-Mom?!"

"I'm just trying to find the bite, sweetie. Still nothing, though. Must've been one of those thin-fanged spiders. B-But no need to fear! I'll take care of it now—"

She doesn't even give herself time to finish the speech.

Lissa sends her disembodied head down on her son's cock, deepthroating him without pause. If only it was just throat, but no—she gives the full service. Licking, kissing, sucking, squeezing his balls in her free hand, all with her mouth locked around his thick cock. And, since she's still convinced that a spider bite is afflicting Ricky's cock, not just hormones, and pent-up arousal, she takes expert care to make her vacuuming fellatio as unbearably pleasurable as possible.

This is just what his cock needed. Ricky's own mouth does wonders, sure, but there's a lack of real fervor in it. He's not a woman, after all. There's no subconscious thought to pinch his lips and hollow his cheeks out for maximum suction, nor is there any

conscious thought to send it barrelling down his throat for optimal stimulation. Lissa can and does, however. Years of being a dutiful wife and mother have left her well trained in the art of pleasing her husband. She knows exactly how the hot darkness of her mouth should milk a cock. Sure, she's never done it to milk out venom, but it's all the same concept, right?

Even if Ricky has some grand moralistic objection to this act, he has little say in the matter anymore. The pleasure is too strong, and the heat of Lissa's mouth is too inviting. Soon, his whole body is wracked with tremors as he feels the orgasm denied just a while ago building up. He can't very well block it out—he can't block any of this out. Whenever he tried to fade away into a world of his imagination, the reality of his mom's pale, fat ass comes crashing down on his nose, filling his nostrils with the scent of sex.

The thong Lissa wore under her dress was just out of convenience, but now it's properly teasing Ricky's sensibilities. As if watching this butt jiggle over his face isn't enough, he can see and smell everything a son shouldn't.

The aroma is not quite sweet, but the novelty is enchanting, and every sway of her meaty cheeks just sends waft after waft of a woman's natural scent to his nose. Of course, sight still remains the most prevalent sensory input. With each bob of her head, there's a bounce to her butt that sends it careening over his face with increasing forcefulness. He could be a celibate priest and it wouldn't matter—Ricky's inner man is at the breaking point. It's time to let go.

Lissa takes the jetting spunk with a mild-mannered "Mmph" but continues to suck, more interested in non-existent venom than her son's cum splashing over her taste buds. If anything, she admires how healthy and viscous the slop feels pouring in and down her throat. What a shame such a healthy, loving boy got bit by something so dastardly. What's a mother to do but swallow and suck…swallow and suck…

Swallow until the throbbing eases and his balls stop their constant churning. Suck until his softening cock harbors not a drop of that nasty, nasty venom.

Aaaaand…there goes the last of it. A nice big blob of her boy's sperm coats her tonsils and slides down her esophagus—a fitting end to a job well done! That's definitely a point on the parenting scorecard for Lissa.

"Mwah, there," she coos, sparing the wilting member a goodbye kiss—and maybe a little lick across the empty sack for good measure—before rising off her son's face. Soon, her head is back on her body, and her clothes are modest. Plus, a quick check of the clock reveals that meatloaf should just about ready too. How wonderful.

First, though, she must care for her son. He's laying on his bed like a dead fish—it must've been such a terrifying experience for him.

"Come to momma. I know, I know—that was so scary, but you were very strong. I knew you'd pull through."

Is it appropriate to hug his mom after she sucked his dick? Probably not, but she's scooping him up into her arms either way.

"Urgh… Th-Thanks, Mom. You always know how to cheer me up."

"Aww~ That's what mothers are for. That's what family is for! We've got to stick together. You may be a big college man now, but I'm still your mommy—and you're still my baby boy."

"Uh, sure. Can I get dressed now? Please? L-Like, with you out of the room, preferably?"

"Of course, sweetie. Don't take too long now. Dinner's ready. I'll go spread the sauce now," she says, releasing her iron trap of a hug and setting Ricky free once more. Before she leaves, Lissa spares a glance at her son's "afflicted" penis before he can think to hide it. Just starting at it brings a tickle to her throat.

"Ricky, dear?"

"Y- Yeah, Mom?"

"Well… Maybe it's not my place to say, but maybe you should learn to off-load some stress, if you know what I mean. It's your room, after all. Ooh, or maybe a girlfriend?"

"Wha—!? W-Why would—b-but you…"

"Say again, sweetie?"

"…What makes you say that, mother?"

"It's just when you came, honey, it was awfully thick. Your sperm, I mean. It's not healthy to keep all that stewing inside." She pauses briefly before adding: "You're an adult, so I'm sure you can handle it. Just know that you're free to do such things in this household. As long as it's modest, of course."

Agony. Agony beyond words. Agony beyond tears. Nonetheless, Ricky just nods. "Good. See you in ten, sweetie! Don't let your plate get cold."

And, she's out.

What a…interesting way to end the day, Ricky thinks to himself as he sits alone in his room, a combination of his mother's—and likely still some of his own—saliva drying on his shaft. Oh, man.

At least there's one lesson to take from today. Or, maybe two.

Family, no matter how weird they may be, are always there for him when he's in need.

And, to always—ALWAYS—lock his door, and check it thrice. Please, if anything, he has to remember that one.