A Berry Lunch - Chapter 2

>Oh, you knew you’d run late for the party…
>The kitchen is still a mess by the time you get there,
>tea on the stove nearly boiling out of the pot while soft drinks sit half-made in various bowls and decanters.
>You set the teapot onto a cold burner and get to work preparing a gallon;
>cup of sugar, cold water, a few drops of lemon juice…
>Juice…
>Crap! The party’s in half an hour, but you stink of –
>”Mom?”
“Huh!?”
>You spin around, Anon’s sweet face looking up hesitantly at the doorway.
>”Um… did you need my help?”
>He looks a bit scared. Probably upset about making you run late….
>You set down your stirring stick, sighing peacefully, and walk over to him.
“Sure, dear. Momma’s gotta clean up for a bit… could you, um, stir the iced tea for me?”
>It’s not something you need him for, but it would be helpful.
>But more than that, you don’t want him to feel guilty about… well, wanting you.
>”Sure.” He trots over to the counter and hops up, taking the spoon with his teeth and stirring the plastic jug.
“Boy’s good with his mouth…”
>Ah! Naughty, naughty Berry, thinking like that… you shake your head and step into the bathroom.
>No time for a shower… you grab a towel and dampen it under the sink,
>cleansing yourself as best you can of your unusual… fluids.
>Your cutie mark isn’t just a factor of your job, or even an affinity for fruit –
>you wonder when you first became aware of the condition.
>Probably sometime in your late teens, now that you think about it –
>a charming colt a few years older than you had asked you out,
>and, as these things happen, the date became… intimate.
>You can still make out his words, all those years ago…
>’Sweet Celestia, Berry, what’s up with this stuff?’
>’This stuff’, of course, being the inconveniently messy fluid dripping down your hindquarters.
>The taste and smell of strawberry and grape, and soon it was all anyone was interested in.
>Heh… colts will be colts, you suppose.
>You dry off quickly and gallop back to the kitchen, your boy dutifully stirring the well-mixed tea,
>gazing up at you with an uncertain look.
“Thanks, honey.” You nuzzle against him and he sets down the spoon while you cap the container and set it on the cart.
>It’s a good thing you don’t have to bring your own ice.
>Handling the rest of the drinks takes but a few minutes, and you grab the stack of bowls and cups on your way out,
>headed off to Sugarcube Corner for some lucky pony’s party.
>You’re just about to shut the door behind you when –
>”Mommy!” Anon runs up and you grab him in an embrace, smooching your little boy and nuzzling his mane.
“Mommy’ll be back in a few hours. Can you clean your room for me?”
>”Oh, okay…” he doesn’t look too excited.
>You’re a bit guilty about leaving him home alone, but Pinkie rarely gives much advance notice.
>You decide to make it up to him.
“Hey, do a good job, now, and you might get a special dessert tonight.”
>”Really?”
“We’ll see. Love you.”
>”I love you!” he shouts as he runs off and up the stairs. What a sweet little colt.
***
>It’s nearly six by the time you return home, carting sizable plates of dinner and cake behind you at Pinkie’s insistence;
>at least you won’t have to cook tonight, though you’re not very keen on the cake part.
>Lucky for you, partygoers aren’t usually very picky when it comes to soft drinks – still, you do your best,
>and with Pinkie’s insatiable demand for beverage catering you make a modest living for your son.
“Anonymous, I’m hooooome!”
>No response. You hope he isn’t frantically cleaning at the last second after blowing it off all day.
“I brought cake?”
>”CAKE!?”
“Come down and see!”
>A few seconds later and your son descends from the second floor,
>visibly giddy at the sight of your haul. You make sure to pull him into a great big hug first.
>”Nngh, stop it…”
“I’m your mother. I can hug you all I want after a hard day’s work.”
>He acquiesces, but keeps his eyes planted on the covered plates of food on the table.
>”What’s for dinner?”
“Some veggie pot pie. Think you’ll have to warm it up –“
>You look over and see him peeking under the plate of cake, and snatch it up before he even gets a chance.
“Ah, ah, ah, dinner first.”
>You take the pie and zap it in the microwave for a minute –
>you haven’t had anything heartier than salad for a few days now, so Pinkie’s offer was certainly welcome.
>No, you didn’t accept food for payment, you tell yourself.
>You’re above that.
>It was a gift.
>You take out your dinner – a pretty big bowl of the stuff, if not an intact, full-sized pie – and set the table.
>Anon wastes no time in digging in. Hmm.
“Did you clean your room?”
>”Mhm.”
“Have any homework?”
>”Nope.”
>…
>You worry about your son quite a bit, how he gets along in school, but you never reveal it to him, of course.
>That’d just make him unduly stressed. And it’s probably fine.
>”Mom…?”
“Yes, dear?”
>”Instead of… cake for dessert, could I… like you said…”
“Sure. And I’ll teach you all about it.”
>He’s only done it a few times now, and you haven’t had a chance to really instruct him. If that’s the word.
>“Teach me?”
“Hands-on teaching, of course.”
>He didn’t have much of an appetite for pie after that.
>Well, vegetable pie, at least.
***
>”It’s called the, um, clit?”
“Yes, dear, the clitoris. And it’s mommy’s very special spot… but it’s sensitive.”
>You’re lying spread-eagle on your bed, perched atop a clean towel this time,
>Anon inquisitively examining your nethers as you instruct him to the best of your ability.
>”So… don’t lick it first, but later on?”
“Yes, dear. It depends on the mare, and different mares respond differently.
Mommy’s is different from Miss Pinkie’s or any other ponies.”
>”So… should I go fast or slow? I went fast last time and you… I don’t know…”
“That was called an orgasm, honey – when you lick a mare’s special spot, it makes her feel very good,
but it takes time. You have to practice a lot to get good at it.
You don’t wanna lick a mare’s clitoris really hard just at first, you  ease into it.”
>”But aren’t mares different, you said?”
“Well… the parts are all the same. Momma likes it when you’re gentle, hun.”
>”Hmmm…”
“Don’t worry about any of that for now. Just suck on it, and drink at your own pace.”
>His tongue reaches out and strokes at the length of your slit,
>egging out a light trickle of your fruity lubricant with each lap.
>Anon’s tongue is still rather small, but he does his best to latch his lips onto your snatch,
>his suckling instincts serving a much different purpose as a steady stream of feminine arousal flows into your son’s mouth.
>You never were able to breastfeed him.
>He continues for several minutes, rhythmically licking the very same tunnel from which he was born,
>drinking deeply of your lust as innocently as a foal drinks from its mother’s teat;
>these naughty coincidences make an enthusiastic cunt-sucking nearly overwhelming,
>and you’re soon quaking and panting, clutching at the sheets as you do your best to keep your legs spread wide for your little boy.
“N… my clit, Anon… focus on that, now…”
>As he drags his tongue to your glistening, winking button,
>teasing and pressing at it as expertly as any stallion ever has,
>you get off nearly instantly, and a flood of feminine juices splash against his face,
>matting his sticky fur despite his best attempts to drink it down –
“N-nnnghhh!”
>your own orgasm is a euphoric wave, crashing through your body as your son concludes his dutiful service.
>”Mom?”
>Giddy wreck that you are, you barely notice Anon nudging his nose against you to get your attention.
“W-what?”
>”That was an orgasm, right?”
“Yes, dear. Could you grab mommy a towel, please?”
>He quickly retrieves one from a dresser, and you pat down your hind legs as you come off your high.
>”Can colts have orgasms, too?”
“Hm?”
>Well, you’re not gonna stop now, are you?
“Of course they can, dear. I can show you that too.”
>”Really? Wow, thanks!”
“N-not tonight, honey. We both need to take a shower, and then it’s bed time.”
>You climb out of bed and fold up the soaked towel,
>throwing it into the laundry before heading to the bathroom.
>You look towards Anon.
“Well? Go wash up, dear.”
>”Um, can I take a shower with you, mom?”
>…
“Oh, all right.”
>He smiles like the happiest little colt in the world as the two of you head into the shower together,
>ending a long day as mother and son.