//-------------------------------------------------------//
The Fascinating Effects of Teenage Hormones on Mother-Son Relationships
                       -by John Off-                       
//-------------------------------------------------------//
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Prologue: What happens when teenagers forget to lock their door.
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Prologue: What happens when teenagers forget to lock their door.
„Huh. I could have sworn… Where are they?”
Hash Brown was facing a problem. Her favourite set of underwear – the black lacy panties, the matching bra and the black thigh highs plus garter belt – were nowhere to be found. And it was her and her husband’s anniversary tomorrow. She’d searched in all the probable places, closet, laundry room, bedside table, even underneath the bed.
“Maybe I threw it in with some other laundry on accident?”
The only other laundry she had to take care of right now was her youngest son’s. His brother was away on a school trip, and their father was travelling as well, for business reasons, returning tomorrow for a day to celebrate the anniversary. Only Button had no reason to leave, so he usually spent his afternoons playing with his friends, or, more likely, playing the day away on one of his many devices. Most mothers would have criticised it a lot more than Hash Brown did, but after all, she was once a very avid gamer herself. She did however criticise his habit of wearing the same underwear from Friday to Sunday night. If it hadn’t been for his hormone rich sweat that made them smell like the sewers, it wouldn’t have been that bad. But since it was, she usually had to make him change and take a bath. Her lingerie had probably landed somewhere in the back of one of his drawers when she was stressed out last week and had to hurry through housework.
She got back onto her feet from looking underneath her bed for a second time (maybe she just hadn’t seen them?), stretched her back and caught a glance of herself in the mirror.
“Oh geez. I really need to clean underneath the bed more often.”
Her pale yellow shirt and the skin tight jeans were covered in dust and lint. Most obvious were the dark spots at her front, where her t-shirt stretched over her breasts, which jiggled a little bit as she brushed herself off with a lint roller. She considered this feeling and felt content with them. They may not have been as big as the muscular mounds of the apple farmer Applejack, or the simply huge ones of the animal caretaker Fluttershy out by the forest, but they were still a nice, solid D-Cup. Having two sons who had both practically insisted on being nursed until they were almost three years old did things to your chest that others could only be jealous of.
The thought of her breast size brought her back to the issue at hand. Where was her underwear? Her sons’ bedrooms were down the hall, and since she didn’t hear the noises of video games or the frustrated yelling of Button coming from his, she assumed he was out at the arcade or with the Cutie Mark Crusaders. They may all have found their cutie marks already, but they were still good friends. Walking down the hall, her bare feet enjoying the feeling of the carpet underneath them, she hummed a tune with closed eyes as she pushed open the door with the Controller on it. The sudden sound of the room’s inhabitant yelling out made her open her eyes as well.
You know what they say. If you assume, you make an ass out of u and me.
Turns out that Button, not hearing his mother vacuum like she usually did at this time of day, had done the same thing and assumed that she was out shopping or hanging out with her friends Lyra and Bon Bon, as she was searching for her missing clothes.
Her clothes, which just so happened to actually be in her son’s room after she had pushed them into his drawer on accident, where he found them. Now, they were lying on his bed. So was he, following the same urge as millions of other males around the multiverse: He was masturbating furiously. At least, until Hash Brown had walked in on him.
He could have accepted that. They could just have both acted like it never happened, be awkward around each other for a week and then just forget it, the way it is handled in most families. It just gets a whole lot worse when the son is not only masturbating when his mom enters the room, but also rubbing his dick all over her lingerie.
After Button’s initial yell, both he and his mother froze in stunned silence, desperately trying not to look each other in the eyes, but both failing miserably. Button’s right hand continuing what it was doing out of reflex was not helping in any way.
Once again, a problem presented itself to Hash Brown. She was shocked, of course, but also… seeing her son stroke his… She cursed her body for what it urged her on to do. And she cursed the fact the she was getting close to being in heat even more. But the instinctive part of her brain did not care at all that the young colt jacking off in front of her was her son. All this part of her wanted was to know how it would taste and feel.
But today, reason and embarrassment won over instinct. Hash Brown quickly yelled something that sounded like “Atleasttrynottostainitkthxbai.” And with that, she was back through the door, slamming it shut.
On the other side of said door, his involuntary movement and the shock sent Button over the edge. Panicking, he barely managed to shoot his load into his pillow instead of onto his mom’s clothes. He’d have to wrap his own clothes into a makeshift replacement tonight, but at least he didn’t make the situation any worse by staining her lingerie.
~ About 2 hours later ~
After making herself a cup of tea and watching a bit of TV, Hash Brown had recovered from the shock enough to look whether or not Button had returned her underwear to the laundry. Sure enough, it was all present and accounted for in the basket, free of any white streaks.
“At least they’re not stained…” After she put them through another washing cycle and into the dryer, she could hear a cough behind her. Button Mash scratched the back of his head sheepishly in the doorway.
“Uh, mom? I-I’m sorry for… that. Do you mind if I eat dinner at the Hayburger today?”
Thankful for the opportunity to avoid the awkwardness of having to eat at the same table after the incident, she nodded and went back to the laundry. Button slowly crept away and out through the front door, still desperately trying to forget the day so far.
“Oh, hey there Button!” a young female voice called out to him, distracting him from his thoughts. It was the voice of his friend Sweetie Belle, who was hanging out with her friends Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, as well as their not-quite-friends-not-quite-enemies-anymore Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. They were sitting around a table in the fast food joint the teenager had just entered and invited him to sit with them.
“Thanks, Girls. I’m just gonna get my dinner real quick and then I’ll be with you.”
After getting his usual order of a Big Tirek (extra hot), large Hay fries, and a cola, he joined his friends.
Diamond Tiara, who sometimes had tiny relapses into her old habits, flared her nostrils at his choice of food.
“Seriously, Button, you eat like Bulk Biceps and spend your days playing video games. At this rate, you’ll end up with a beer belly before you’re legally allowed to drink!”
Apple Bloom, on the other hand, lowered her eyelids and smirked.
“Diamond, y’all need to remember that Button is an eighteen year old colt. He probably needs to refill his protein.”
Silver Spoon and Button himself blushed at that remark, while Scootaloo snickered. Unlike them, however, the innuendo was very lost on Diamond Tiara and Sweetie Belle, who looked confused, and dreamily at Button, respectively.
Over the course of his dinner, Button managed to discretely steer away from Apple Bloom’s sexual remarks. Which happened often, since Apple Bloom grew up around mating farm animals, and thus had no shame about it at all. But, being friends with her for a couple of years, the CMC and Button all adapted to it in their own ways, either joining in, ignoring it, or simply not picking up on the innuendos by being naïve, Sweetie’s method of involuntary choice.
Once everyone had finished what they had ordered, they left the fast food place and walked down to the Apple Orchard, to spend a little time chatting at the CMC’s old clubhouse.
Meanwhile, Hash Brown was using her son’s absence to prepare for her husband coming home for their anniversary. Cleaning the house, buying his favourite food, and, of course, preparing the lingerie for the “special surprise” at night.
Yes, this year’s anniversary might not be too different from the others, but it would be fun, and she’d been looking forward to it. Hopefully, nothing would get in the way…